


The Family

by kittyyzma



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asgard (Marvel), Bigotry & Prejudice, Cruel Journalists, F/M, Implied and Not-So Implied Racism, It’s All Coming, Modern Asgardian Royalty, Out of Character, Quarantine Fatigue LOL, Surprise Baby Fic, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyyzma/pseuds/kittyyzma
Summary: Thor Odinson is the crown prince of Asgard, the country’s most eligible bachelor...until he’s not. Suddenly *The Season* is ruined when he brings his new, pregnant girlfriend home to meet his royal, dysfunctional, family.(Various Facecasts. I’ll list the relevant ones in the corresponding chapters)
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Thor (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja/Odin (Marvel), Hela/Skurge | The Executioner
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I had this in the drafts and couldn’t contain my excitement at writing it any longer. I’m quite far ahead. I have no business being here with a new story but... 
> 
> (I hope you’re all corona free. Also, BLM!)
> 
> Facecast: 
> 
> Lucian—James Ransone
> 
> Tora—Kaya Scoledario

  
The Asgardian Palace sits on an obscenely large patch of land. The drive to the front door is impossibly long. There are cars lining the driveway circling the roundabout and the decadent golden fountain, but that’s less her focus. No, currently, she’s ecstatic that the windows of the car Lucian had received her in are tinted near black. The paps that line the front gate would have a clear shot of her to post in tomorrow’s paper if it weren’t for the tinted windows. 

The closer they get to the palace, the more she can see that architecturally, it’s much different from anything she’s seen in England. 

Brunhilde looks down at the time on her phone, it’s not even 8. Which means, the ball is not even  _ close  _ to over. Not at least for another few hours. She could theoretically make an appearance and no one will think anything of it. But she doesn’t know if she really wants to. She’s exhausted. 

Lucian—her new personal driver—drives down a side gravel road, around to the side of the palace that is cut off from prying eyes behind quite a bit of shrubbery. She’s practically had her nose pressed to her window; she can see a garden further down, peeking from behind the side of the oversized home. He drives toward a garage—there are more doors than she’s ever seen specifically for vehicles. “Aaaand, we are here.” 

There is a gaggle of guards, with comms and earpieces, talking into their sleeves and holding their fingers to their ears casually, as if their jobs are  _ normal.  _

Her door is pulled open suddenly, as the car is parked in a space, and the garage shuts as the engine is stopped. 

“Brunhilde Arden?” The man isn’t tall like Thor is, but he’s taller than she is. He has slanted eyes, and jet black hair he has braided out of his face. “My name is Hogun, head of your security detail. I will see to your safety, as my title implies.” 

“Yup,” she answers, taking his offered hand. She is comically smaller than every man surrounding her at the moment. Even in her heels. There’s a few other guards but they’re more concerned with flanking the car even though there’s no one in anything but the same black suits. 

“I’ll show you to your room,” he says, saying no more. “Someone will bring your bags for you.” 

She nods, and holds back her irritation at being escorted. It’s not for her protection but so that no one will see her. “Thor couldn’t greet me?” She finds herself asking. 

“His Highness has prior engagements—though he did try to get out of them,” Hogun smiles at her over his shoulder, his eyes are knowing. Security always knows. 

That’s better than willfully leaving her to the wolves she supposes. 

In this wing of the palace, everything is so intricately designed—the patterns probably took so long—she can't help the little gasp that escapes her mouth at the vastness of it all. There are gold and blue accents, and the windows give direct views to the compound. She can see the gardens and various pathways around the vast palace-side. 

The ceilings are so high, she feels incredibly small. But the proud woman keeps her head high and schools her breathing. 

They come up on a bedroom door and it’s slightly ajar so she’s told to wait while a couple guards sweep the area. It’s cleared soon after and she stands frozen at the sight of the way every guards stance seem to prepare for the worst. The sweep of her room is quick though, and soon the door swings open to reveal a luxurious bedroom. 

She takes it all in as she seems to float through the door. It all appears priceless, and almost Victorian in feel, but not the same. The pieces are more are more swooping in shape with designs that are repetitive. The walls are painted a light blue, painted with visions of the sky. The floors are white marble and it sparkles. 

The bed being the centerpiece of the room, everything seems placed around it. There are exposed pillars, with swooping, elegant designs at the tops and bases that match the ceiling. And there’s a crest above the bed, an eagle carved in the stone placard. There are varying shades of blue and whites. There’s a tiered chandelier above the sitting area, a table and cream sitting chairs. Near the bed is a side drawer and on either side, more chairs that appear more comfortable. The pillars are all about the walls, but there are four bracketing the large bed. Both sides of the room mirror each other with the same furniture but on one side there is a closet, and the other, her own bathroom. 

”Dear lord,” she says to herself. Her bags are brought up for her, but she stands in the same spot just taking everything in. It appears that she’s at least welcomed to stay… for now. “It’s bigger than my entire flat.” 

There’s a party happening somewhere in this palace but all she wants is a bath, and bed. 

“Miss,” she hears, and the same guard stands with his hands folded behind his back, “There will be two guards just outside your door when you’re ready to be escorted to the party.” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going to that…” Brunhilde frowns, sitting in a chair in the sitting area. She notes the TV on the wall—right where she can see it from where she currently sits, and even her bed, though that would be a slight struggle. Removing her heels, the new guest lets them clatter to the floor. She wiggles her toes after removing her socks, and with passing thoughts of needing to redo her toenail polish. “I just want to sleep.” 

He doesn’t seem too shocked by her response, she’s just come off a plane and been thrust into the largest bedroom she’s probably ever slept in—tonight has been quite the adjustment already. But he has to come up with something to tell his boss...the  _ Prince _ . “Very well, goodnight.” 

She's left to her own devices for all of ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” She calls. 

“Miss,” the servant greets herself. “My name is Tora, I’m here to see you are comfortable and taken care of.” 

“Oh,” Brunhilde sighs, “I just want to take a bath, and go to sleep.” 

“Very well,” Tora nods. She’s fair skinned with dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows, a pert nose, and a rosebud mouth. Her face is oval shaped, smattered in freckles, with blue almond shaped eyes surrounded by dark lashes. Brunhilde can tell she’s not old enough to be hardened by a job of servitude because her smile is warm, like a hug. 

She moves around the room like she knows it like the back of her hand. And Brunhilde follows her into the bathroom. The room is larger than necessary, open and spacious with a tub sitting near the windows. The heaters are exposed and sit beneath the window sills. 

On one side is the sink, and the shower stall in the corner is larger than necessary. The swoopy, carved designs still appear, but this room is much more focused on the white and cream color pallet, with gold accents. There are a few vases, plants she isn’t expected to keep up with it. 

The clawfoot tub is oversized, nearly three people can fit in it, but it’s just for her. Tora turns the nobs though Brunhilde is standing right there and can do it by herself, even if she’s suddenly bone tired. Giving up her autonomy right now is not so bad. She sits on a stool, hands braced on the edges as Tora gets to preparing her bath, “I can do it if you—“

“It’s not problem, madam.” The maid smiles, she can see just how tired her new mistress is. She squeezes a container of sweet smelling soap into the water and it begins to get sudsy while Tora goes to the closet and reveals fluffy towels and cloths. She takes out what she assumes Brunhilde will need and sets it on a plush bench. The servant pulls it over to the foot of the tub so Brunhilde won’t have to trek water everywhere. “I could take out some sleeping clothes for you.” She makes the offer with a slightly bowed head and her hands folded in front of herself. 

“I haven’t unpacked my bags, I’ll just get my own clothes.” Brunhilde waves her off, not unkindly but not wanting to be fussed over too much. Tonight's starting to feel as if it’s been pulled right from a movie. She’d never imagined she’d ever find herself entangled with the monarchy. All she wanted was to get her singing off the ground. And while she’s played a few small coffee shops, she’s never imagined a life wealthy enough to be on par with this. 

She turns off the water, pulling back after sticking her hand in and feeling the temperature, “I am here to help you in anyway I can… but if you insist, I will leave you.” She stands with her hands folded before her, a soft look on her face, head slightly bowed. 

“Thanks,” Brunhilde says, giving a nod. The servant makes an exit, her feet barely making a sound against the floor. 

Brunhilde kicks off her clothes, letting them pool at her feet. She twists her hair into a bun, using one braid to tie it all off. She groans once she slips into the water, tapping her long, almond shaped nails on the side of the tub. She closes her eyes and tries not to think. She lets the stress soak away, hums a tune—and tries to relax. The only sound is the drip of the faucet. 

She enjoys her bath in peace. The Palace is relatively quiet, and she can’t help but feel like she should go see about the ball. She all but chewed Thor’s head off over it. She’ll probably need to apologize for that considering she knows there are things that will continue to happen because he’s a Royal. There will be events, and speeches, and situations will arise where appearance will mean a great deal. When she called him, she knew she was making it impossible to pretend they’re strangers. 

She’s never been one to make her own life easier. Terrible quality, now that she thinks about it. 

There’s the sound of someone in her room, and she freezes. “Tora, I’m fine… Really.” She speaks up, still laying back in the tub. But there’s no response, “Who’s there?” There are the sound of footsteps and she frowns. 

Prepared to call out again, she stops as Thor’s deep voice sounds in through her open bathroom door, “Rue… You in the bathroom, love?” He’s stopped at her closet door, where her bags are just sitting in the walk-in. 

“Yeah” She replies, “In the tub.” She takes a rag and dips it in the water before taking it to her caramel-brown skin. There’s a domesticity to this moment, Thor wandering around her room while she bathes. “What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be charming socialites and their parents?” He pops his head into the bathroom just as she gets the teasing question out. 

“Hey,” He smiles at her, arms folded as he leans in the doorway. 

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your guests?” She asks again with a smile, one she’s trying to fight and school into a straight face. He only shrugs. His eyes trail her figure as she stands and reach for her towel, wrapping it around herself. He meets her at the edge of the tub, helping her out. 

“I wanted to see you and make sure you’ve gotten settled,” He kisses the top of her hand, taking in her face as they stand and look at each other. 

Brunhilde reaches up and pushes her nails through his hair, as she hums at his new look. He’d had longer hair when they’d met, and she has many vivid memories of tangling her fingers in his blond tresses, tugging them in a frenzy. His mouth quirks into a smile, as if their minds had drifted to the same place. 

Thor draws her in, arm tucking around her waist. “Thoughts?” 

“I don’t  _ hate  _ it,” she beams up at him. She never could keep herself from giving him a smile. He’s got a smirk that can make her forget her name. 

He chuckles, wrapping both arms around her waist. The prince leans down to kiss her on her upturned, button nose, and she scrunches her face playfully. Standing on her manicured toes, she follows his lips with her own, taking the proper kiss hello. 

  
  



	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! 
> 
> Facecast: 
> 
> Aldrif—Emily Blunt

Thor squeezes Brunhilde’s hand in his own, lifting it to kiss the tops of her knuckles. She looks just as reserved as she always does—in the months that he’s known her, he’s known her to be quiet, _controlled_ and quiet. She likes her drinks, and a few gin and tonics loosen her up quite a bit. But her drink of choice is off limits for the next few months. “I can feel your nerves.” 

She gives him a weary glance, followed by a shake of her head. “I'm about to meet the King and Queen of Asgard… and then we’re gonna to tell them, that we’re havin’ a baby.” 

“Point taken,” He exhales, just as anxious as she is. They’re going to have an important conversation over breakfast. “But we’re here together,” he said, offering her a charming smile that she’s so very besotted by. 

They’d decided breakfast would be the best time to break the news. It’s a light hearted occasion, between the family and a casual way to introduce her to his parents and siblings. 

If he knows them—and he does—his sisters and brother will serve as quite the buffer if things become too intense. He’s always been the fairly reliable one between him and his brother, and his sisters Aldrif and Hela will probably point that out if his father starts with his disappointed dad spiel. 

His parents can be quite intense, always expecting their children—grown or not—to act according to plan. Hela is married to a man she doesn’t love, simply to make them happy, and Aldrif never does much to stray from being the responsible (but fiery) woman that she is. He didn’t have the pleasure of knowing the woman who was Queen before Frigga but he can’t imagine she’d stray far from her pledge of duty either. 

Frigga loves them in her own way, but it’s never been a stretch of the imagination to say that her favorite among them is Loki. He’s the middle son of three, the son she would prefer to take up the mantle of being king. He’s her special son, kind of soft, but intellectual and capable of cunning, intelligent attack she doesn’t see in her eldest son. Thor tries to let it roll off his shoulders. But he knows his parents see him as the son who will never be the perfect image of a King. And today—well, this is not going to go well. He can’t say that to Brunhilde though, as she’s taking a huge leap with him right now; her life will stop today, and will continue in a new place, in an entirely foreign environment. He doesn’t know the extent that everyone will go to make this palatable to the public, but he knows it won’t come without some berating over his irresponsibility. He just hopes they don’t pin this on her. Brunhilde didn’t ask for this. 

“They’re going to hate me,” Brunhilde says suddenly, “Oh, _god,”_ she presses her hands to her face, elbows on the long table in the dining hall. She massages her eyebrows just as Thor turns properly to face her. 

“No, no, no,” He says, placing a hand on her back, “They’re…this is going to be a shock. But they won’t hold it against you. Things happen—“ she cuts him off with a look. “Okay… so It’s not going to be great…but I won’t let them leave this room thinking worse of you than they do me.” 

It’s not quite what she wants, but it will have to do. Knowing the blame is equally shared between them will have to be enough, she supposes. “Okay,” She exhales heavily. 

He runs a hand up her side to her neck, cupping her jaw. “And eventually, they’ll be just as besotted as me.” 

“Oh,” she laughs, pushing his shoulder, “Shut up…” 

“Yes brother; do shut up.” Aldrif’s voice drifts into the large room as the double doors push open. She stands in the archway, in dark jeans that reveal her ankles, her heels red and shiny—the highlight of the outfit. She wears a crisp white button up beneath a navy blue blazer. And her golden-balayage tresses are thrown up into a bun atop her head. Her chin never drops from being parallel to the floor. She strides over confidently, with every inch of height that she has. She’s taller than Brunhilde by many inches in her heels, and towers over her brother’s guest as she stands. 

They don’t have to stand, but Brunhilde has shot up out of her seat at the sight of her and Thor does the same so as not to embarrass her. The only two they’ll have to stand for will be his parents, and sit when they do. 

“Her Highness, Princess of Asgard, Aldrif,” Thor makes the introduction. 

“Please don’t curtsy,” Aldrif quickly says, smirking at the woman’s expense. She waves her off, her smirk spreading to a smile as Brunhilde sputters. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…” 

“Brunhilde…” The nervous woman offers a hand for a shake instead, and the Princess shakes her hand firmly. When she releases her hand, Aldrif plops into her chair. Brunhilde swallows thickly and sits just as fast. 

“I see no one else bothered to show up on time…” she tsks, shaking her head. With a sigh, she sets her cellphone on the table, straightening her placemat. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long…” 

“Oh, no.” Brunhilde shakes her head, “We just got here.” 

“Thor’s been warning you about our family then…” Aldrif sneaks a glance at her younger brother, already a twinkle of teasing in her blue eyes. “Baldr, the worst of them, wont be here today. He’s stuck in Botswana. The rain kept him over,” she’s speaking mostly to Thor, who shrugs. Of the three sons, Baldr is the one who looks most like their father. She’s only kidding about Baldr, if anything, he’s the sweetest of the three sons. Still only 21, he’s seemed to skip a rebellious phase and settled into his princely duties. Frigga is proud. 

Brunhilde looks between them, mouth open as she considers what the woman says. “Should… I be worried?” 

“Not about Hela and I…” Aldrif sits back in her high-back chair, head tilted slightly. “But considering that you’re pregnant… this will be an interesting conversation.” Both Thor and Brunhilde’s eyes widen. She smiles, “the only reason Thor would introduce you so abruptly would be because you’d eloped and/or skipped right to baby making. And considering neither of you seem to ever have had rings on your fingers, and you didn’t appear in the banquet hall last night to make your grand appearance as Duchess… I’d say you settled in your room and went to sleep because being pregnant while traveling must be exhausting.” 

“Bloody hell, she’s _pregnant_!?” Hela stops mid stride to the table, her husband Lars Skurge behind her—brows lifted to the middle of his forehead. 

“I think I’ll skip breakfast this morning…” He says suddenly, and Hela glances back at him. 

“Skurge…” 

He turns on his heel and exits the dining hall, nearly running directly into Loki. “Have fun…” 

“Dear Gods… please tell me that we've all heard incorrect…” Hela says instead, making her way closer to the table. “Thor!” 

Loki instead rounds the table to where Brunhilde is sitting. “Don’t mind my sister Hela being _rude—“_ he eyes the oldest child princess, as he takes Brunhilde’s hand and lifts it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “—Loki, pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“Brunhilde,” She says, smiling uneasily. “Pregnant.” 

Thor snorts, and she looks back at him. This is not how she imagined this would go. Hela is staring at her brother. 

“Ohhhh, you’re in so much trouble…” She exhales. Her hair is jet black, as is Loki’s, and she’s wearing a t-shirt that reads, _The_ _Clash,_ on the front, and black jeans with combat boots Brunhilde has. She shakes her head, finally looking at Brunhilde, “Sorry, pleasure to meet you…” 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Brunhilde grits out, feeling much too annoyed that already, she’s relegated to being a mistake—a smudge on Thor’s record. 

Aldrif sticks her hand to her face, glancing conspiratorially at her older sister as she sits beside her. _Nice one, sis._

Odin will sit at the head of the table; and Frigga at the foot, closest to Loki. On her other side will sit an empty chair, then Aldrif, and Hela. On the other side, Loki sits near his mother, beside Brunhilde and Thor will be near the head of the table perpendicularly to Odin. Hell, he expects to take a smack upside the head. 

“Don’t…” Thor says, and they all know what he means. “Let us ease into it,” he knows there will be no _easing_ into such news. But he can at least attempt. Loki blows a raspberry and Hela calls for a butler. 

“I’ll have need a stiff drink, Einer.” 

“It’s 8:30, Your Highness,” The middle-aged man in the uniform says, concerned but quietly. 

“Bourbon,” Hela insists. “Just fetch me the bottle…while I’m still relatively young.” She’s only 36, and knowing this Aldrif chuckles. 

  
  
  
  


“Are you _joking?”_ Frigga stares at her son, brows furrowed with indignation. She stares at her husband as he sits with his hands over his face. “Pregnant?! _Pregnant?!_ When did you meet this woman?!” 

Brunhilde bristles at the tone of the Queen’s voice. The judgement in her tone is evident. Aldrif and Hela sit across from her, looking worse for wear _for her._ Hela holds a crystal glass in her hand, filled with amber liquor moments from being downed. Aldrif has her fingers pressed to her forehead. And Loki—she can't tell if it’s decency or amusement that is spurring him to continue eating his breakfast of deviled eggs and toast. 

“We didn’t mean for this to happen,” Thor explains calmly. “But…I’ve brought her here as my guest, so you could at least show her more respect than this. Her name is Brunhilde, Mother.” 

“ _You_ speak of respect now of all times?” Odin finally speaks, his question laced with disappointment. “Do you care how this looks to the outside world? A secret relationship, to a woman of no noble blood, who will bear you a child? Have you lost all of your senses? You are the future _king,_ Thor! Crowned Prince! How could you be so irresponsibly stupid!” He begins to cough, and Loki rushes to pour him a glass of water as his own shaky hands cover his mouth with a handkerchief. 

“Father!” Hela finally cuts in. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke…” 

Brunhilde is trying to simply keep her mouth shut, but it’s proving hard as Thor’s parents berate him. It’s been ten minutes of his mother yelling at him, and his father staring at the vaulted ceiling. 

“I’m trying to make it right…” Thor says, looking between them. 

“Is the child even yours?” Loki asks casually, getting all of their attention. His tone doesn’t even suggest he’s hurled such a vile accusation. 

“I beg your pardon,” Brunhilde glares at him, speaking for the first time since they’ve broken the news. 

…it wasn’t decency that saw him eating the rest of his breakfast comfortably.

“How is that an appropriate question? Are you kidding me?” 

Loki rolls his eyes, “I’m sorry if you’re offended… but how are we supposed to know that you wouldn’t pin a child on my brother? You could have made a regrettable mistake in the weeks you and Thor have been apart…and my idiot brother happens to be dumb enough not to ask—“ 

“Loki…” Frigga presses her hands to her face, suddenly realizing how rude they are being. How dismissive it is to speak in front of a guest the way are. They are dignified royals. They don’t holler and berate one another. Her husband’s heart can’t take such things these days.

“I’m to assume you know how procreation works, yes?” Brunhilde cuts in, emboldened by how offensive she finds the sudden line of questioning. No one dare reply, they’ve insulted the woman enough. “Then I don’t need to explain how we find ourselves here. I appreciate that the circumstances are not ideal, but I care about Thor. There is no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else in years. You don’t know me, I _am_ a stranger.” She stands abruptly, throwing the cloth napkin from her lap, onto her plate. “I may not have grown up here, in this life so far removed from reality… and I don’t know if this is something you encounter—women trying to pin unborn children on your family members… but you don’t know me… so don’t you dare insinuate that I’d be so cruel and disgusting.” 

She knows she’s not supposed to leave before king and queen are done eating, but she can’t take more of this. She needs to get away, she needs some air. 

“Rue!” Thor reaches for her, but she pushes back. 

“I just—give me a minute.” She says, pushing out of the room, where guards are casually walking about the halls. She exits to the backyard, past the suits. 

Thor stands in the center of the room; he stares at the door. 

“Well, I think she’s lovely.” Loki comments. 

Hela throws a bread roll at his head. “You were rude. I would have decked you in your overly egotistical face.” 

“You—mother, father, Loki—should be ashamed of the way you spoke to her,” Thor says, turning around to face the table. “She had nothing to do with why you’ve never met her. I am. Was it wrong… after that? I don’t think so.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know her. You don’t know a thing. We haven’t known one another as long as you and father have known one another—that comes with time. But gods-dammit she is kind, smart, funny, and real, and she doesn’t deserve to be judged by you. I’m—I can’t believe I come from this—a place where it could ever be conceivable, speaking to a woman that way.” He looks directly at Loki, “That was disgusting…you are disgusting.” 

“Everyone take a breath,” Frigga draws in a deep breath, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you—“

“Mother…” Thor inhales deeply, bothered. He knows she's trying to deflect from what Loki asked of Brunhilde and implied about his brother. His _idiot_ brother, as he said. “We live in a bubble. And I was miserable.” 

“So you’ve knocked up a commoner for what? A little taste of adventure and rebellion?” Loki asks with a roll of the eyes. “Some of us are appreciative of the life we have.” 

“She has a name, and she’s a person. I care about her, she’s my girlfriend and you will treat her with respect or I will ring your neck.” Thor threatened. 

“You’re an idiot if you think this is going to be easily dealt with or that she cares about you. You’re her meal ticket,” Loki shrugs, hand up turned without a care of his brother’s feelings. “Then again, this is par for the course with you, isn’t it? You do stupid, irresponsible things, but because you’re the first born son, you still somehow get to be King.” 

Hela massages her temples and pours herself another drink. Of course that’s what this boils down to. Birthright. Nevermind that she and Aldrif aren’t even in the running to one day rule—not that she even wants to. But it’s not even an option, because she’s a woman. Of _course_ Loki is being the devil reincarnated because he wants to sit on the throne, and no matter what, Thor will have to give up his birthright for Loki to achieve his goal. She shakes her head, rolling her eyes as Aldrif glances at her. Baldr would be sitting at the table, picking at his breakfast, letting his brothers bicker. 

Thor shakes his head, “You’re such a dick.” 

“Thor!” Frigga interjects. 

“It’s the truth,” Thor says, unapologetically. “He’s just insulted Brunhilde—my guest and the woman I’ve told you is the mother of unborn child—because he can’t accept that he will never be King.” He points an accusatory finger at his brat of a brother, “No matter my mistakes, it will never be you, Loki.” Of all their arguments in the last, this seems the most adult, and upsetting. This will take a lot to come back from. His stomach churns with disgust. 

“Go to hell, Thor!” Loki laughs bitterly. Though, a chord has been struck. “You’ll still be the irresponsible idiot you are now! Incapable of my intelligence and—“

“Dickishness?” Thor asks, crossing his arms. 

Loki grits his teeth at the insult, and narrows his eyes. “I may be a dick. I may not be King someday, but at least my first born won’t be a bast—“

Thor is already advancing on his youngest sibling, when Hela and Aldrif shoot up from their seats. 

“ENOUGH!” Odin slams his hand on the table. “Enough of your petty arguing! Is this what we have become? A family that hates one another—keeps secrets and attacks each other? Is this the family I lead?” 

Thor turns away from his family, knowing exactly what brother was going to say about his unborn child. He wants to rip him apart, a feeling he’s never felt before. Not even when they were hormonal teenage boys. He’s never wanted to punch his brother more than he does right now. He wants to believe this is his brother’s childish, 24 year old mind reacting to his own hurt, but he can’t bring himself to care about such things. Loki may feel like the black sheep, but it’s not an excuse to be so abrasive. 

Aldrif rubs a comforting hand on his arm, “I’m sorry…” he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. 

“I want to kick his teeth down his throat,” he says quietly. 

“Take a breath,” Aldrif suggests to her brother. As his fellow middle child—they’re only 2 years apart—they’re close. They’re the two that try to be the image of perfection their parents want. They give the bright smiles at events, and give the speeches. They entertain while Hela and Loki sometimes drag their feet and stick out like sore thumbs. She’s a little bitter Thor seems to want a different life, even as someone who easily plays his role in the family. 

“Your words were appalling,” Odin says to Loki, his tone stern, but words barely above a whisper. Loki has the sense to look ashamed. “Thor… let us finish—“ 

“No,” Thor says, “I don’t want to be around you lot right now.” With that, he heads for the door. 

“Stop!” Odin’s voice booms, and Thor actually flinches as he stops. He doesn’t turn around. “The derby is tomorrow. And you will not embarrass me by not showing up. Get the girl an outfit and make sure you are there. Or I will let you drown in the consequences of your selfish behavior.” Thor exhales deeply, but Odin casually resumes his breakfast, ignoring that his daughter’s are staring at him. “Now you may go.” 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Three

“This morning was awful,” Aldrif begins, drawing in a deep breath as she approaches Brunhilde and her brother—as if they’re two skittish animals. She takes note of the tension between them, and she feels immense guilt over the fact that her wayward brother has caused a rift between them. “But… the derby—did he tell you about the derby?” 

“I was going to…” Thor grits his teeth. He personally hates the glorified horse race and the pageantry that comes with it. He hates being there, expected to schmooze and smile at people he really only sees this time of year. “But here you are.” 

He’s given Brunhilde a bit of time—the entire rest of the morning—to be angry with him; to want to yell at him for not doing enough to stop his family from acting like dickheads. He’s accepted it. But he really hopes she’ll accept that she needs to go with him—the United front needs to be strong. Or they’ll drown, he’ll drown. His father will let him, and if it comes from the King, there won’t be a soul willing to defy him and help them. 

“I’ll go,” comes out of Brunhilde’s mouth before either of them can ask. “Derby sounds fun.” 

“It’s not,” Aldrif laughs, smiling wide as Thor looks at her. Brunhilde chuckles, having needed the laugh. She appreciates that of all the siblings, Aldrif seems to be the most kind. She has an amazing spirit, it seems. And holds her brother in high enough regard that this is not something that will break the bond between them. Thor looks at her with admiration, and appreciation; happy that she’s here making the effort to lessen the blow of breakfast time and Odin’s less than concealed threat. “But it’s the beginning of the season darling, and you will be the talk of the town. Let’s make sure you look fabulous for it…”

“Well alright then.” Brunhilde nods. She glances back at Thor and he lifts a hand to wave at her. He’s off to endless fittings today, for his endless array of suits and outfits. During the season, he doesn’t do much but focus his attention on showing the people—through the media—that he’s an acceptable representative of the nation. There will be interviews and chats that end up spread everywhere, smiles and contrived laughs. He’s perfected it, which is soul-wrenching enough. He supposes this will be different.  _ Gods,  _ he has to sit down with the PR team and work out a statement. 

“Bring her back in one piece, Al!” He yells down the hall, a finger already pointed at her as she leads Brunhilde down the hallway. 

As they step into the courtyard, Hogun and a woman nearly his height step in front of them. Rue and Aldrif are momentarily startled. 

“Your Highness,” both bow to Aldrif politely, “Brunhilde, this is Sif Xenia,” Hogun introduces the dark haired woman, her smile is soft and well meaning. 

“Madam,” Sif says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Rue doesn’t know what else to say. The introductions are over in a breath. 

“Would you prefer we call you, Rue?” Aldrif asks her when they’re out of ear shot. They head out to the courtyard—Hogun and Sif following them—and Aldrif is perfectly honed in on the woman carrying Thor’s baby. Her smile is warm and her gaze soft. 

“You can,” Brunhilde shrugs, “my full name is quite the mouthful.” 

“ _ Rue _ … I like it.” Aldrif says, and they’re escorted into a car. “Was it a childhood nickname?” 

“No,” Brunhilde chuckles, sliding into the luxury car, “I’ve worked a lot of dead end waitressing gigs…it was easier to shorten my name than listening to all the colorful attempts at my full name.”

“Ah,” Aldrif nods in understanding. Her own name is quite different, if not a bit dated. But such are things in the monarchy. 

“Where are we goin’?” Rue asks, curiously looking out the window as she buckles her seat belt. Lucian is quiet in the front seat, fiddling with the air conditioning—the windows never go down in a car transporting a Royal. Behind them, is another car for security. Hogun taps a hand on the side of the car to signal to their driver they’re good to go. 

“Shopping, darling.” Aldrif smirks with a sway of her shoulders. She’s happy to put some miles on her platinum card.  _ The wonders of modern day banking.  _

The women chat idly about her life in London, the art of yoga and she and Aldrif plan to workout together, and meditate. Aldrif says she loves her hair, the chunky braids that are far longer than she would be able to take, but look beautiful on her. She doesn’t touch—and Rue is happy about that. Aldrif’s upbringing is very strict about touching people without permission, and even with it. 

The drive into town isn’t at all long, and Aldrif points out some of Thor’s favorite places, like a cafe that has the best scones. Coffee shops are a new novelty as of late, as are a lot of different food options. Over the years, Asgard has become a bit of a melting pot, and they see a lot of tourism in the spring and summer time. It helps to be up to date on the happenings in fashion, food, and culture. Of course, with that comes some pushback from the older generation of Asgardians who like to reminisce, some more kindly than others. Diversity isn’t an issue, not more than it is anywhere else, not nearly as complicated as it is in America, Aldrif says. Brunhilde chuckles at that, knowing it’s probably much more nuanced, as are many things, than any Royal will ever be able to imagine. They’re lucky that way. 

They end up at a boutique and Rue attempts to push her own door closed (Sif stops her gently) while Aldrif leaves hers to be shut by security—as is the protocol, a failsafe. 

She smiles at her new friend as they head inside. “I love it here, they have so many cute things… I’m sure we can find you something you’ll like.” 

Rue enjoys comfort, clothes that are not necessarily one style, but make her feel confident while still being comfortable. And she’s virtually given up form fitting for the time being. 

The boutique workers seem to glow and hum back to life once they realize Aldrif has arrived. She smiles at workers and shoppers alike, but doesn’t do much else to draw attention. The security guards follow at a safe distance, always watching. They don’t talk, and Brunhilde can’t help but feel unsettled by the way they loom. She’s not used to having two people in suits guarding her every move. 

“What are we looking for today?” A woman asks. She’s wearing a white flowing top tucked into her form fitting skirt, and high heels Rue will never have the balance to walk in. Her blond hair sparkles under the lights in the store, and the sunlight from the boutique windows. 

Aldrif answers while Rue looks through the folded items at the center of the room—completely avoiding full outfits. She knows there’s no way they aren’t ridiculously overpriced. But her eye catches some attention grabbing hats, and she makes a face. Gosh, she’ll probably be expected to wear one. “What size are you?” Aldrif asks before she can wander off. 

“Six,” Rue replies, looking at shoes. While she’s distracted by the different items—looking at price tags before she admits whether or not sandals, wedges, or pumps are even cute—Aldrif and the store manager throw some outfits together. 

“Rue,” Aldrif clears her throat to garner her attention before standing directly beside her. The Princess looks at the shoes on display in the window—ignoring that people are taking notice of them now. She doesn’t worry herself, knowing the store is closed until they are done. “Ooo, those ones are cute,” She says, looking at a pair of strappy wedges. “They’ll be much better to walk in on the grass, you should get them. But you can get whatever you want too.” 

“Have you looked at the price…” Rue asks quietly, “Good God.” She can’t help the quirks of her lips as Aldrif laughs. 

“I know… it’s a bit expensive even for my tastes, but they’re  _ discreet _ here.” Aldrif says lowly, the two women looking at each other in understanding. Discretion seems to be a great deal more important than much, in their family. “Come, we’ve pulled some outfits for you.” 

Rue allows herself to be pulled away, leaving the shoes alone, completely. The manager, a woman named Denny, leads her into a dressing room, Aldrif stands in front of the mirror, glancing around for the bench before sitting. She’s spotted security standing among the various mannequins, and racks, making her chuckle to herself. They hate shopping. 

Rue looks at the various selections, most of them loose and flowy in accommodating fashion. Looking among the options, there aren’t many that she likes. Everything is so…gaudy. She selects a black pleated skirt with flowers embroidered near the hem and a nude colored blouse with matching floral printed on it. She ties the loose bow near her neck and smooths down the material that is tucked down into her skirt. The skirt is high waisted and accentuates her shape without being too tight—she doesn’t feel like she’s being sucked into the clothes. 

“Coming out,” She calls before making her way out of the dressing room. She stops in the mouth of the hall, arms flopping to her sides as she awkwardly awaits a verdict. 

“I had a feeling you’d choose that one, everything else seems too brightly colored for you.” Aldrif says. Her outfit had been dark wash jeans, and charcoal grey oversized sweater. Her shoes were combat booties, with a thick heel. “The mirror is here.” She points at the 360° full body mirror at the middle of the wall in front of the bench. 

Brunhilde felt… expensive, in the clothes and finds she doesn’t mind it. With her head tilted, she considers how she looks. Her hair is thrown up into a fat bun, with some braids long and loose and her makeup minimal. She feels nice, it’s  _ nice  _ to be here with Aldrif, who’s teasing this morning settled her a bit, and who’s doing her best now to make her feel welcome and not like a smudge on their family’s name. She smiles at her brother’s girlfriend in the mirror. 

“You look stunning, darling,” she compliments the still unsettled woman, standing, “But you need a hat!” She looks around the boutique, for the stereotypical hat. She finds a light grey one, with a matching flower. It finishes off the outfit, keeping with the floral theme. She makes her way back over to Rue, nearly skipping. Rue lets her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulder before Aldrif places the hat on her head. She places her hands on Rue’s shoulders, “There…perfectly overdressed.” 

Brunhilde laughs loudly. “Denny?” She calls, “What do you think?” 

“I think you look lovely, ma’am,” she compliments, smiling easily. 

“Then I think I’ll spare myself the trouble of trying anymore clothes,” Rue jokes, glancing at Aldrif, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Aldrif waves her off, “Go get changed and we’ll go find something to eat. I’m starved.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Rue rushes back into the dressing room, and changes back into her sweater and jeans. She plops on the bench in the dressing room to put her shoes back on.  _ Why did you choose heels?  _ She read somewhere that the royal family never wears flats, but she’ll be breaking that rule soon enough. She has a pair of worn converse just waiting to scuff some expensive flooring. 

She grabs her over the shoulder bag, taking some gloss to her lips and sweeps her hair to the front of her body. She makes sure to grab the outfit she’d decided on, taking it to the register where Aldrif is already standing. Denny takes the clothes and folds them, putting them in unnecessary coverings and bags, with a near reverence. They give their thanks and Aldrif tips generously for how long they were there keeping everyone else out. Security flanks them on the way out. 

“Axel, we have time for another stop, yes?” Aldrif asks, looking down at her phone to confirm what she already knows. 

“Yes, your grace,” The guard says. 

“Good,” Aldrif says as they get into their car. “What are you in the mood for?” She asks Brunhilde next. 

“You aren’t busy today?” Rue finds herself asking instead. Aldrif pats her arm casually before pulling away again. 

“Not at all,” She confirms, “I’d much rather be here anyways, getting to know a new family member.” 

“That’s sweet,” Rue sighs, “But I don’t think the rest of your family sees me as much.” 

“They’ll come around,” Aldrif says instead, “They’re just…posh. They’ll see Thor is serious about you and then they’ll just have to get over themselves. I like you, and I look forward to getting to know you better.” 

The rest of the afternoon is spent in relative comfort between them. Brunhilde eats and talks, laughing and giggling at Aldrif’s casual banter. She finds Thor’s sister utterly hilarious and charming. She and Thor seem to have that in common. 

“How did you find yourself tangled up with my brother?” Aldrif asks, reaching for an eclair. They chose a little French bakery for lunch, sitting in doors, in a corner away from prying eyes. They’ve seen their Suits backs’ more than other people’s faces. Most camera flashes have been aimed at Aldrif—who’s quite the entertainer, smiling and waving at children mostly. 

“I saw him looking utterly lost,” Rue shrugs, “he was waiting for the train, headed to the natural history museum without an idea of how to get there.” 

“My brother… heading to a museum? Was he sick?” 

“He was just trying to kill time, I guess.” Rue shrugs, chuckling at Aldrif’s confusion. It was true, Thor didn’t look like the type you’d find hanging around a museum. But she quickly found that he’s a very knowledgeable person—whether that can be attributed to his upbringing or not, doesn’t particularly matter to her. “You know, he didn’t tell me he was a prince?” 

“Of course not,” Aldrif rolls her eyes. “He wanted  _ normal,  _ whatever that means.” 

“Now look at us,” Rue sighs, sitting back in her seat. “I guess I should apologize…” 

“For what?” Aldrif asks, brows furrowed. And then she realizes, “Oh nonsense. None of this is your fault—especially not this morning for sure. I’m sorry for the reaction you received this morning—my family isn’t usually so...so  _ rude _ .” 

“So Thor has said,” Rue takes that moment to take a sip of water, to hide her bitterness from the morning meal. She had known the conversation wouldn’t have gone well, but still… she hadn’t expected Loki to treat her so appallingly. “We’re adults. Me and him—we expected it to be awkward, upsetting even. You don’t know me, but that was—“ she shakes her head. 

“Loki tends to act like a brat… but that’s normally saved for the rest of us.” Aldrif explains, sighing heavily. “Don’t let them get to you.” 

“Easier said than done,” Rue folds her arms, looking at her empty plate. She’s stuffed. Her hand finds her stomach, rubbing lightly. Despite all the chaos that will ensue because of her unborn baby, she can’t wait to blow up like a balloon. She has a handful of friends back home—who she’s sure are freaking out over her sudden move—who have moved into that next step in their lives. She hasn’t shared the news with anyone yet. She’s kind of scared, but mostly excited. She looks up, meeting Aldrif’s knowing smile. 

The Princess moves forward conspiratorially, “I’m going to spoil your little one absolutely rotten.” 

Brunhilde laughs, “I figured as much.” She chuckles lightly as a twinkle of mischief lights in Aldrif’s eyes. “I still can’t believe you knew… just right away.” She says, snapping her fingers. 

“I notice things,” Aldrif shrugs. She’s used to being the family member ignored. It taught her a lot about observation—and even manipulation. “And I know my brother. He deals in extremes. And I don’t mean that as a slight to you—Thor is just all about big gestures. But he likes to keep parts of himself hidden, the important bits. He was much angrier as a child.” She looks up at Rue, swallowing down some of her words. “I've probably said too much at this point. But… you know… I’ve known he’s been miserable. I’d just hoped he’d tell us.” 

“He…” Rue begins, trying to think of a way to explain. In the months that she’s known Thor, he’s opened up to her like a flower blooms. She found that he just needs an outlet, someone to tell him being upset is okay, being hurt, angry, feeling pressure. “He doesn’t like failure. It doesn’t sit well with him. He would have never told your parents he needed a break because that feels like a failure.” 

Aldrif is momentarily stunned by just how well Rue seems to know her brother. An entire lifetime she and Thor spent as siblings, and Rue is just casually aware of his inner workings more than she is. Part of her wants to be upset—with herself more than anyone else— but she knows she should be glad her baby brother is happy to share with someone else he’s found, instead. “Our father has always put a certain pressure on him,” Aldrif says, “And I’m not surprised that he was unable to tell our father that it was getting to be a lot. I just…we don’t keep secrets, me and him.” 

“We all have them, don’t we?” Rue asks the rhetorical question over the lip of her hot chocolate. Aldrif knows the answer is yes, and she’d be a hypocrite to deny it. Brunhilde thinks this is a slightly dramatic kind of thinking from a sibling—that it’s in anyway reflective of their relationship in someway. But sometimes, you just want to talk to someone who’s  _ outside _ of it. Maybe it’s easier to see and stomach, as someone who’s an only child, she doesn’t know… but she can’t sit on the thought and sets down her drink. “Everyone has them…things they want to keep for themselves, away from judgement.” She thought that everyone would feel that way. “And it’s not about you, it’s not personal in that way.”

Aldrif nods relentingly. No one would ever dare tell her it’s not about her, but it’s honest. And it’s Brunhilde telling her, not inhibited by her title as princess. They all need more of that. 

“You’re a surprise,” Aldrif says absently. 

“In more ways than one, huh?” Rue jokes. 

“Keep that sense of humor,” Aldrif says, lightly.

Brunhilde blushes, “Is this the part where you tell me I’ll have to  _ grow up  _ to survive this place?” 

Aldrif snorts, unoffended. “This is the part where I tell you—“ She reaches to squeeze Rue’s forearm, ”—‘Don’t let us change you.’”

  
  
  
  
  


Aldrif leads Brunhilde to Thor’s room, upon their arrival back to the Palace; along for the walk is Sif, who Rue is right to assume will be her personal escort. She knows Rue is pregnant, and has been silently walking by all day. Aldrif has seen Rue’s things back to her room, leaving her purse, and her heels. Aldrif raises a brow at her crew socks, but says nothing. 

_ “I’m not walking in those another minute,” _ she’d said. 

“Brother?” Aldrif calls, pushing the doors open with a frown, upon hearing voices coming from the room. It sounds like their mother, and of course, she’s standing there, staring at her son and waiting for him to give her the response she wants. 

“Hey!” Thor greets them with a smile, much more grateful to them than they realize—for they’ve saved him from having to acknowledge something the Queen is saying. 

“Hi,” Brunhilde says wearily, stuck in her spot at the door. Aldrif immediately steps over to a shelf in his sitting area, taking the crystal decanter filled with bourbon. She pours herself a drink and sits on the chaise lounger, inelegantly throwing her feet up. 

“Mother,” Aldrif grits her teeth as she swallows down her liquor, tilting the glass in her stepmother's direction. She and the Queen have been nothing but cordial since her teenage years. Frigga is not cold, but she’s much more motherly to Loki and Thor than she is with Aldrif and the oldest of Odin’s children, Hela. The girls grew up feeling separate, though, Odin always did try to tell them just how powerful their name is. With Asgardian name customs, being an Odinsdottir would get them by forever. Aldrif has always been close to Thor, and she vividly remembers the excitement she felt at having a little brother to play with and take care of. Hela always treated her like such a baby. But the oldest cares in her own way. 

“Hello, ladies,” The Queen says, spurned but unwilling to say it. Brunhilde has yet to even acknowledge her presence. 

Rue stares at Thor and his outstretched hand a moment before making her way over to him, letting him draw her in and kiss her temple, “Al didn’t scare you off, like I’d thought she would.” He says, pretending to whisper. She snorts and Aldrif rolls her eyes. 

“No, today was very nice.” Rue pats his chest, warmth swelling in her. She finally glances at the Queen. 

“Your Majesty,” She wraps her arms around him, nodding at his mother. 

He again smiles at her before kissing her temple. She’s nearly a foot shorter and comfortably tucks into his side. She pulls away, and makes herself comfortable sitting on the Recamier sofa at the foot of his overly large bed. She takes a glance around his room, which is much larger than her own. His room has a feeling of being lived in, with modern styled twist on regal furniture and a darker paint job on the walls. All of his doors seem to be open, and things all slightly undone. 

“What’s got you looking so flighty?” Aldrif asks Thor, unable to let the tension sit for much longer. And since Frigga hasn’t left, she supposes the conversation is not over. 

“Maybe you can get him to tell you why he wants to withdraw from the season…” Frigga looks exasperated. Rue picks at a platter of fruit brought in and sat in front of her. Thor winks at her. 

“Mother, I think it’s fairly obvious…” Aldrif says, the question evident in her tone. Is their mother willfully ignoring what’s apparent? “He’s brought a woman he cares about home, and she’s having their child… I think the ship has sailed on courting a noblewoman.” 

“Nonsense!” Frigga exclaims. Thor snorts, making his way to grab a drink of his own. He shakes his head, as Aldrif looks up at him. “We can still fix what’s happening—things can be discussed—“

“I don’t  _ want  _ to discuss them, mother!” Thor retorts. “That’s the entire point I’ve been trying to make! I don’t  _ want  _ to marry one of those women, I don’t  _ want _ to be with someone using me to advance their station!” 

Rue looks up at the Queen, watching her face redden and her eyes tear up with her frustration. They make eye contact, and she can see the comment and accusation at the tip of her tongue. She instead looks to her son, “You’ve forgotten who you are… this isn’t just—“

“About what I want, so you’ve said  _ plenty _ of times,” Thor sighs before downing his drink and setting the glass out for Aldrif to pour him another after she fills her own. 

“Are you trying to spite your father and I?” 

“This is not about you,” Thor replies, trying his best not to snap. This is not a conversation he wants to be having, in front of Brunhilde. But the way she’s intently paying attention, without giving any of her emotions away, is keeping him from losing it. He looks back at the Queen, “This is not  _ happening _ to you. I’m not attempting to spite you. And it’s not the end of the world. We have entire teams of people to handle the ridiculous things you are so worried about.” 

“You’re setting a precedent,” Frigga argues, still as impassioned as before. “And there are traditions—do you want to be  _ that _ kind of King? The kind that makes commitments and does not follow through with them?” 

Rue makes a face, fatherhood is a pretty big commitment, she would think—more important than flaunting one’s wealth at horse races. But she’s not here to shake the table too much, she honestly… she’s invested time in Thor, they’ve connected. And she’s not leaving him here to the wolves—those who will see him be unhappy just to keep the status quo. She’s far too stubborn for that. 

“My priorities are a little different now,” Thor shrugs, unsure of what his mom means to accomplish with this conversation, but he’s over it. “And tomorrow, Brunhilde and I will make our first appearance together. It’s happening, that’s what we’re doing. I trust you will smile and wave, as you’ve always done… for the good of the family.” 

The Queen is tight-lipped and frustrated, unable to fathom how, or why her son is being so stubborn and refusing to see reason. But he’ll see he’s making a mistake. “I hope this ends the way you think it will. I do, for your sake. But it won’t, son.” She looks at Brunhilde, and her stony countenance that is holding on by a thread. “I don’t believe you are cut out for this, but you are welcome to try and prove me wrong.” 

“And I will,” Rue says confidently, though she’d half-expected Frigga to ignore her the entire time. Thor has made a choice, obviously, and she knew what she was getting herself into when she’d gotten on the plane to get here. She doesn’t care if even the King and Queen don’t believe it. She’s not here for them, or the title. 

Thor and Aldrif share a look before smiling at her. 

“Mother, let’s go discuss my outfit for tomorrow, I can’t decide on a pair of shoes,” Aldrif stands, ushering the Queen out of the room with a grin back at her brother and his girlfriend. 

“She’s delightful,” Rue says, deadpanned. From her tone, Thor knows she’s not talking about his sister. 

“I'm sorry,” Thor means it sincerely, a frown deepening at his mouth, and between his brows. “For breakfast, for  _ that _ …” 

“I'm here with you,” Brunhilde says instead of saying it’s okay, because it’s not. It’s not okay, but it’s what’s happening. They knew that maybe his family would need more time to process but that doesn’t change the reality. “I’m here. We’re in this together.” 

“Tomorrow could go a lot like today,” Thor warns her. “But my family will behave themselves because gods forbid we don’t appear absolutely perfect for every moment of the day.” And while he’d hoped for real support from his family, he knows that their fake smiles will have to do. “There’s a lot of acting at play.” 

“And I absolutely can pretend that I don’t think your brother is a prat,” Rue says, shrugging at him playfully as his attention snaps to her. She smirks and he can’t help but laugh. 

Thor nods in agreement, chuckling, “He is a bit of a prat, isn’t he?” 

Rue laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners and her snort unbidden. “A little bit, yeh.” 

  
  
  
  



	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The derby! 
> 
> Thank you for your comments, kudos and time. Enjoy
> 
> Facecast:  
> Gennie—Anna Popplewell  
> Karnilla— Anne Hathaway

It’s the morning of the derby, and Rue nervously moves through her morning routine. She brushes her teeth, washes her face and moisturizes her skin while Tora sets to waiting for something to do once her bed is made, and her cleaning is done. She’d sent for breakfast and a fork—chuckling to herself as Brunhilde poked at fruit and drank orange juice instead of biscuits and tea. Sunlight shines through the large windows, illuminating the immaculately designed room. Rue settled relatively quickly, throwing her things about. From what Tora learned from Gennie, Thor’s roomhand, their sense of chaos in their bedrooms is very similar. 

Rue is not a morning person and blankly stares at herself in the mirror for a few moments. Today feels like a big day, like it could go terribly, or end up being…pleasant. If there’s one thing she can look forward to, it’s meeting some people outside of this insular Royal family and see Asgard. And she can giddily admit that she can’t wait for everyone to know she and Thor are together. 

She’s never been one who gets mushy over relationships, but she’d be a liar if she didn’t at least admit that Thor is a good one. He’s a gem. And he’s just fallen into her lap—or would he say it’s the other way around? Is she absolutely in love with him? No, she isn’t, not yet. But she’s falling for him, hard—despite the craziness abound them. And she knows that will be important—holding on to him right now is important. 

The tired mom-to-be yawns. She gets to laying down her baby hairs, styling them with her trusted little brush and some gel, trying her edges down with a bandana when she’s done styling her hair. She debates makeup when she’s done, her skin has been looking lovely lately. She decides on some sunscreen, powder where she needs it, a little liquid highlighter on the high points of her face, her cheekbones, bridge and tip of her nose, and a barely there brushing of it on her prominent Cupid’s bow. She finishes with chapstick and rosewater spray. She looks up from where she sits in the full length mirror in the closet, and Tora is staring at her like she’s some ethereal being from the heavens. She smiles at the servant in the mirror. 

It doesn’t take long for her to get into her clothes, but she spends a few moments, standing in the mirror examining her body. She’s coming up on her 11th week, and the bump isn’t at all prominent there. But she knows what she’s looking at, so she knows. She places her hand on her belly and contemplates what’s going on in there at this very moment. It brings a smile to her face. And under all the anxiety that comes with becoming a mother… she genuinely can’t wait. She has her first ultrasound picture—one that she’d sent a copy of to Thor because he couldn’t be there—is in her wallet. But she’s dreading the process of getting Thor’s family to come around. And despite their antics, she knows Thor will be upset if that fails to happen. Hopefully, if it doesn’t work out how he wants, she and the baby will be enough. She exhales, knowing she can’t put that kind of pressure on herself. She’s always stood steadfast under scrutiny and pressure, but she doesn’t want to endure on her own anymore. It’s a big part of why she’s here—why she understands Thor’s need for support in the first place. People aren’t meant to be alone. 

She’s dressed and putting on her shoes when Thor comes to collect her. Tora lets him in and bends into a curtsy, “Your Highness.” 

He nods in acknowledgment but he’s already looking for Brunhilde. She’s fussing with her hat—which is unnecessary and not sitting the way she wants. She adjusts the brim a few times before giving up and standing before him. 

“You look beautiful, as always,” He says, despite the pout on her full lips. He chuckles and reaches for her hand, kissing her knuckles, holding her hands between them up near his chest. She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his lips. He smiles at her, swooping down to kiss her temple and whisper, “Ready?” 

“Yup, lets go.” She takes his hand firmly and leads out the door, her clutch in her other hand. He loops her arm in his as they walk gingerly towards the front of the Palace, where the cars await them. He nods at Sif—the security guard he’s known for ages—and she simply returns the gesture. Rue is only looking at him, “You really don’t want to go to this thing huh…” 

“I could do without it, but it can be fun. And I’ve caused my parents enough grief for the week.” He jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his face. He uses humor to lighten the mood, a lot. They have that in common. 

She lets the silence hang between them, comfortably. She takes in the Palace halls. The various frames of former monarchs on the walls on one side, and the windows on the other, naturally lighting most of the compound. There are very few dark corners around this place. 

They get outside and she’s quickly assaulted by how warm it is today. It’s a good thing her top is light in color and weight, or she’d be burning up. Thor greets the various security team members, and she’s noted that he knows many of them by name and they have inside jokes. It will take her a few more days to start retaining names. It seems there’s always another face to remember. 

It’s not just a car they’re taking, but a limo all their own. She slides in first, scooting across the leather seat and towards the window. She smiles at him just as he settles in and the door is shut. 

“Fancy…” She says, reaching for a bottle of chilled wine sitting in the bar along his side. There’s enough room for at least four more people. He scoots closer to her, taking her hand while simultaneously stretching his legs. 

She settles comfortably after tossing her hat to an empty seat. 

“You don’t have to wear that, you know?” He chuckles, “Aldrif should have told you that. Hela never wears a hat. She says agreeing to wear a skirt or a dress is enough.” 

Brunhilde snorts. She doesn’t mind dresses, but she’s not one for hats. “I haven’t seen your sister since breakfast yesterday.” 

“Hela has a speech for a dinner party she’s working on. She’s the guest of honor. I probably should remember what for…” Thor makes a face, grimacing dramatically in a way that make her laugh. 

“Will she be around today?” Rue asks curiously, just as they finally begin down the long driveway. 

“Yes,” He nods, “There are going to be a lot of people so she’s not going to be hanging around. If I know her—and I do—she’ll be at the bar tormenting the bartender.” 

Rue laughs at this, settling comfortably before taking their joined hands in her lap. “Are you worried?” She asks, whilst still curiously looking out the window instead of at him. 

He watches her for a few moments, rememorizing her profile and recalling all the quiet moments they’ve had where he’s done the same thing. “No,” he finally says. She looks at him, and he knows he’s surprised her. “Are you?” 

“A little,” she admits. “I don’t want to be someone who feels like I _need_ to be validated. But these are your peers. And I think it would be ridiculous to ignore that at least _some_ approval is better than none at all.” She exhales, biting her lip as he looks away and ponders her words. “I'd prefer not to be hated so if we could avoid that...that would be great.” 

He snorts, glancing at her and watching the smile stretch across her face. He can’t help but lean over and give her a sweet, lingering kiss. “Everyone’s going to love you.” 

“Tell me what to expect,” She changes the subject, stealing another quick kiss. Pulling back slightly, she smudges away some of the glossiness from his bottom lip. 

“Well, you know, we watch the race, mingle. And then after, my mother hosts a picnic. There’s more mingling, food, that sort of thing. I’m supposed to get to know some of the women...but I don’t have to do that anymore.” 

“You’re welcome,” Rue elbows him with a smirk and he laughs. 

“Thank you,” he replies, pretending to be exasperated. “You know, actually, I’ve known most of the ladies since we were little.” He winces, “oh, those must have been a fun conversation for my father to have with all their fathers.” 

“Well what about one of your brothers… neither are married? Why can’t they be married off?” She rolls her eyes and he pauses. 

“That’s not a bad idea. I mean, they’ll never be Queen. But they’ll be wealthy… which is what most of them want anyway. And I’m sure Loki would absolutely bask in all the attention.” He muses, corners of his mouth downturning in thought. He lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles. 

“I’m so curious about how this is supposed to work,” Rue is truly fascinated but she’s glad too, that Thor won’t have to deal with being treated as a title. He’s way more than that, than someone’s ticket to fame and power. But it’s also never been so glaringly obvious to her that she’s going to be seen as a nobody. 

“Like _The Bachelor,_ except I’d have to actually marry one of them, no take backs.” He says, brows furrowed. “No, I don’t actually watch _the Bachelor._ ” 

“ _The Bachelorette_ is always much better anyways,” Rue teases him. He glares at her and it makes her laugh so loud. She claps her free hand over her mouth. He grins at her once she snorts. 

They spend the rest of the ride casually discussing everything under the sun, keeping conversation light. There’s no need to dampen their moods. He rubs her hand with his thumb, and she rests her head against a his shoulder. He shares that he’s been reading everything he can on babies, and pregnancy, all the pamphlets and articles online. He’s taking everything in stride and his excitement won’t be killed because his parents and brother are less than enthused. She may or may not have teared up as he excitedly chatted away. 

Once they arrive at the Derby, all her nervous energy bubbles to the surface. She hasn’t been feeling morning sick in the last few days actually, but the thought of interacting with noble people makes her want to hurl. She’s not used to this life, and apparently the Queen herself knows it. But Brunhilde hasn’t ever been one to step down from a challenge. 

“I know the press are here, but we don’t have to talk to them,” Thor says, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He reassures her, and that thought is nice to hear him say out loud. And not oddly, it puts her at ease a little—knowing he’s here right there with her. “Ready, Love?” 

She can only nod and exhale. The door opens on both sides, security standing and waiting for them to exit. She smiles up at Lucian. 

“Ma’am,” He smirks at her. He’s freshly groomed and his suit is pressed with extra care that morning, “Good luck today,” he mutters to her. He has a good feeling about her, and with the way noise travels around the Palace, he’s heard plenty of arguments around her appearance in Thor’s life and now the rest of the family’s. 

“ _Thank you_.” She says back, just as softly. He gives her a nod. Just then, the press takes note of their arrival and finally leaves Aldrif, Hela and her husband be down the way. 

Thor makes his way over, paying the clicking of cameras no mind. He takes her hand while Lucian and his partner—Axel, she thinks his name is—form a barrier, Sif holds her arm out, one at her hip, the other holding people at bay. Questions are shouted in their direction, most of it unintelligible, but she does hear the question of who she is… more than once. But Thor holds her hand firmly. 

They make it into the enclosed venue, past the general admissions gate. She hadn’t realized that there would be more than guests of the royal family there. But they’re just as wealthy so there isn’t much of a difference, she supposes. 

“There you are,” Aldrif sighs, making her way over, “Don’t you two just look adorable?” She comments, Thor’s neutral colored suit is rather plain for such an event, but he prefers it that way. She notes that Rue has chosen not to wear her hat. 

“I agree,” Hela says smoothly. The siblings exchange hugs and cheek kisses. “You look nice,” She says to Rue, smiling. She’s still making amends for her less than gracious behavior the last time they’d seen one another. 

Both sisters looks very nice, different, but both nice. Aldrif wears a simple white button up and a form-fitting skirt. It’s a pale yellow, with lace embroidery that matches her golden shoes. Hela opted for a button up as well, but with red leather pants and chunky heels. Her black hat is lopsided. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“Oh, please, Hela is just fine,” The older woman corrects her, reaching to clasp her forearm. “We’re practically family now.” She says. 

Thor holds back his smile at that, and doesn’t let himself react too much. Brunhilde nods, and it’s a nice moment, but he doesn’t want to embarrass her. 

“Father is entertaining Laufey and friends over near the stables,” Aldrif changes the subject, “And Mother is around, somewhere… probably still inviting people for the picnic after the race.” 

“So we’ll avoid them both somehow…” Thor says, making the siblings chuckle. “Where’s your husband?” He asks, as they begin to wander towards their tent, where they’ll be viewing the race. 

“Probably flirting with someone much too young for him…” Hela replies flippantly. She waves off their concern. Rue does her best to ignore the awkward tension that over takes the moment. Hela seems less bothered than Aldrif and Thor do. Rue tells herself there is more the story and makes a mental note. 

There’s a bar and tables of little finger foods, but Rue isn’t intrigued by any of it. She opts for a sparking water once she notes there isn’t _plain_ water anywhere in sight. She finds herself smiling at people, and awkwardly, more often than not, she receives no smiles in return. She finds Thor just as he’s finishing up a conversation with a Duke from somewhere or the other. 

He smiles at her, loops his arm around her waist, and she settles her arm around him too. He kisses her quickly, in greeting, and it makes her smile. If anyone had any questions of who she was to him, it’s been swiftly answered. Their cute moment is interrupted by a gaggle of nobles, counts and dukes who smile at her dismissively and want to talk with Thor about his latest visit to France. Funnily, the last place he'd been, was London; in her flat helping her pack some bags. But he doesn’t release her, instead he holds her closer. She listens intently, the way he speaks intelligently and laughs easily at their stupid jokes and anecdotes. 

The only person who actually takes interest in hearing her speak is an old friend of his, Gustav Volstagg. He was a large man—larger than Thor—with a booming laugh and red hair. They bet drinks on who would win the race. And he’d asked her why he’d never seen her around before. Of course she explained a little, he listened to her when she said she’d been enjoying herself. 

_“What’s a beautiful woman like you doin with this dolt?” He asks, teasing the future King with a twinkle in his eye and a booming laugh while patting Thor on the back._

_She genuinely smiles, “I quite enjoy his company,” she shrugs, drawing him closer and looking up at him._

_“She’s a keeper,” Volstagg chuckled, “Any woman who can lie so easily on your behalf is worth marryin’.”_

It’s not long before the race starts and they line up to watch. Hela and Skurg are off in the corner, having a passive aggressive debate. Aldrif stands beside Thor watching them. He elbows her and stops her glaring. 

“Leave them be, Al,” Thor says to his sister, glancing around the tent to make sure their mother isn’t near enough to notice. 

Aldrif huffs and folds her arms. 

The starting shot of the race sounds before the siblings can continue. Everyone is suddenly dialed in to the race, and the several horses running the circle. 

“Who are we pulling for?” Rue asks Thor quietly. She doesn’t care one way or the other, but he’d made a wager. 

“3rd from the right, Belle,” He answers, leaning closer to her ear. He points at the horse, guiding her line of sight. 

As the tension begins to build and finally the last lap starts to come to a close, she takes note of how many people are tensed in waiting. They seem to be pulling for the same powerful horse. She’s still one behind as the make a break for the final curve. Belle begins to charge and soon the horses are neck and neck. People are cheering and spurring on their picks to win. Thor is leaning slightly to one side, both of them trying to see around a few more people who have wandered over—guests who didn’t head back to their own tents. Thor is smiling, and she can tell despite all the fancy, royal pretense, he’s finally enjoying himself. At the last few seconds, when it seems Belle is going to lose, she pulls out in front and speeds across the finish line with her jockey. People cheer so loudly, even Thor joins in on the celebration with Aldrif. Rue can’t help but laugh with relief, letting herself be swept away in it. 

  
  
  
  


It’s nearly an hour later that Rue finds herself standing alone at the picnic. The set up is quite fancy, decorated tables with name tags and place mats. There’s catering and various games set out. People are playing cricket, and cornhole, even mingling as Thor told her they would be. 

He’s off speaking to his parents, with much probing done on her part. She’d promised she was fine. She’d chatted with a few people she’d met at the derby, but not for long—as she quickly became uncomfortable with how familiar everyone was with everyone. 

She notices a few stares from what she realizes is the suitors tent. She supposes she couldn’t assume they’d be uninvited. But she does her best to ignore it. She stands with her clutch under her arm, and a glass of lemonade in another. There are alcoholic drinks, and she’s avoided them all as graciously and inconspicuously as possible. 

Rue breathes a sigh of relief as she notices Hela walking her way. She’s beginning to feel awkward standing alone while Thor is off probably having to defend her to his parents; yet again. She doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Take a breath,” Hela comments lightly, sidling up beside her. “He’s not back yet?” 

“No,” she’s not surprised that Hela knew exactly what she was thinking. “I’m pretty sure people are starting to notice, and they’re starting to stare.” 

“Rumors are churning, and it’s not lost on anyone that you and my brother have been attached at hip today,” Hela replies, sipping her drink. She’s on her second mimosa. 

“I didn’t want to cause—“

“Trouble?” Hela asks with a smirk, and watches as she nods. “We could all use a little of it,” she shrugs. “Trust me, no one around here is going to die.” Rue nods, knowing it’s right. She’s putting so much pressure on herself. “His mother will get over herself soon enough.” 

Rue furrows her brows at the tone of voice Hela takes on. There’s a story and she wants to know what. Twice in the last couple days, she’s gotten the feeling that both sisters aren’t as close to their stepmother as one would assume. They had been children when their father remarried, considering how close in age everyone of them is. 

“Alright?” Brunhilde asks instead, turning to stand closer to the older woman. “I hope you don’t mind me ment—“

“I’m fine,” Hela quickly interjects. “Just hate parties…and we have incoming company.” 

“Who’s that?” Rue asks, as the tall brunette approaches. 

“Lady Karnilla of Nornheim,” Hela says over the lip of her glass. Rue pretends not to notice the woman making a beeline for her, or that her walk seems to be right off a runway. 

“Your Highness,” Karnilla gives a small bow at the sight of the Princess, and Hela gives the most forced smile. 

“Karnilla,” Hela greets her, drily. 

Karnilla looks at Rue, holding her clutch in both hands. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Hela rolls her eyes at the put-on sweetness of the Lady’s tone. 

“This is _Lady_ Brunhilde,” Hela cuts in, making the introduction. She winks at Rue as she looks flummoxed for a mere second. Karnilla looks just as confused, blinking a few times before looking at Rue again. As she sputters, Hela does little to hide her smirk. She and Rue haven’t bonded the way she and Aldrif have, but she’s carrying her niece or nephew and she will not have some opportunist come flouncing over thinking she can be manipulated for information. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rue cuts in, offering a hand shake. Karnilla schools her expression and shakes her hand, but Rue can tell it isn’t the norm—Karnilla’s grip is confident, nevertheless. 

She takes a moment to study the woman’s face. She’s beautiful, with long dark hair and timelessly beautiful features. She has big brown eyes, a proud nose and full lips. 

“I just wanted to come over and introduce myself,” Karnilla says, her smile wide and bright. Rue can tell that smile has awarded her plenty of attention and favors if not for her curves and confidence in having them. Her hand at her hip, and her ankles crossed, she screams power and pride in her title. “I make it a point to know everyone. But I don’t know you.” She keeps her smile, doing what Rue assumes is an attempt at hiding that she’s looking to interrogate her. 

Hela glares, but says nothing. 

“This is my first season,” Rue admits with an easy smile. 

Karnilla pretends to be interested, nodding slowly. “Were you at the derby? I don’t remember seeing you.” She eyes her from head to toe, eyes lingering on her outfit, then her hair, then taking note of her not having a hat. Even Hela is wearing a hat. This woman clearly lacks the history. 

“She was with us,” Hela smirks. “In the Royal tent… it has the best view.” 

“Oh!” Karnilla is stunned, mouth falling open slightly, smile slipping. “You’re here together?” 

“I’m here with Thor, yes,” Rue sounds aloof but she knows what she’s doing to this woman’s brain. 

“Oh, aren’t we all…” she laughs, clearly she hadn’t heard that this _nobody_ was here with the future King of Asgard. “Aren’t we all here for him?” 

“ _With_ ,” Hela reiterates, enjoying the turn of conversation far too much. “And here he is now…” 

Thor makes his way over, and Brunhilde can immediately see that he’s unhappy. The King and Queen are walking in the opposite directions, towards the cricket equipment that’s being neglected. People will soon flock to see who will win. Frigga normally picks a lucky lady to be paired up with her, and Odin would pick Thor. But it’s Loki. And it’s not lost on anyone. 

“Ladies,” Thor’s tone is pleasant, but he looks like he wants to be anywhere but there. Karnilla is too flabbergasted—by what Rue and Hela have said, and now that _Loki_ is the one playing the game of cricket—her curtsy is rushed and unsure. “Could I speak to you?” He asks Rue quietly. 

“Yes, sure,” Rue says, gripping his hand as he takes it. Hela smiles and walks away while sipping from her drink, leaving Karnilla to stand there, with her mouth wide and eyes even wider. 

Thor leads Rue to the entrance of a hedge maze. He’s quiet and his expression and posture rigid. She can see the thoughts churning in his head, and she can’t even begin to imagine what his parents could have said to him to cause such a stark difference in his mood. All thoughts of the leggy brunette that was attempting to badger her, are long gone. 

He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles, covering her hand with both of his as they maneuver the maze. After a few moments of silence, he smiles at her, his expression soft. He just wanted a moment of peace, away from prying eyes that are far too harsh and judgemental—faking their pleasantries while logging every glance from him in Brunhilde’s direction. 

He lets out a sigh, his shoulder loosening as they come up on to a bench swing. “I love these,” she says, whimsically. She’d never allow anyone else to know this, and he knows that too, from the way he looks at her. “Shut up; come sit with me.” 

“As the lady commands,” He groans as he sits beside her. She gives a push and lifts her legs to the side, her back to his chest as they swing gently. His hand finds her belly as he kisses her temple. He looks out across the space around, ensconced by trees and high shrubbery. If anyone is in the maze with them, they’ll pass with relative silence. 

“What did your parents want?” She can’t help but to ask now, too curious to let it go. 

“Well, our arrival will make all the papers and I’m sure it’s all over the internet already. They want to make sure I know what I’m doing. My father is upset, but has already ordered that our representative Heimdall get a handle on the situation. Loki will take my place in the season’s events, as suggested. Neither of them seemed too happy, making the adjustment. But I'm not changing my mind about us.” 

Brunhilde smiles to herself, relieved to know he’s still all in. 

“I don’t think Loki is upset about it either,” Thor snorts. 

“You haven't spoken to him, have you?” Rue asks, as they sit and swing. 

“Nope,” he pops the p, his thumb now absently rubbing at her middle. “I don’t think I will for a while. He was...awful to you.” 

“Thor?” She looks at him, “I appreciate that you’re upset with him on my behalf...but I don’t want to be in the middle of you two. He’s been your brother longer than I have been around. And—“

“You’re not in the middle, I promise.” He says. “And don’t worry, no one will blame _you_ for the tension between us. We’ve been bickering long before you. Since I’ve been named as our father’s successor—he’s been jealous. And it... _sucks_ because I’d always thought the world of him.” 

“Maybe you can fix it. After all...he’s in your place now, right? A little.”

“A little,” Thor snorts and brushes his free hand over his face, “but he wants all of it.” He sighs heavily, expression darkening. “If it were up to him and my mother...he’d be next in line, a new pretty wife in tow. You know...I’ve actually thought about giving them what they want...abdicating and just letting it be. What do I care?” 

“Because you just do. You _care_ —I for one think you’ll make a great King.” Rue smiles up at him, chuckling as Thor maneuvers his face away from her hair. She lifts his hand from her belly and kisses his knuckles lovingly. “You’re not a quitter. And I know you like to pretend you’re over it—you’re not. You still care about what happens to Asgard.” 

“You know me too well.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Rue teases, “I have to ask: has your mom always played favorites? Why wasn’t Loki the chosen one from the start?” 

“I was born first,” Thor shrugs. “It’s not any more complicated than that. I’m the first born son, whether they like it or not. And I suppose that’s a part of the problem. I was raised knowing I’d be king some day. My father raised me that way. That left very little purpose for Loki, in his eyes I guess. But...I think our father loves us the same. It doesn’t really matter, as Loki sees differently and blames me for it.” 

“And Baldr...what does he think? He’s the baby.” 

“I think if he were born first, he’d be my father’s choice. He’s the youngest of us, but he has the most sense of duty. I...I couldn’t make the trip to Botswana for their conservative opening and he volunteered without thought. Said, _one of us had to be there_.” 

“Sounds like a good kid,” Rue says. 

“He is,” Thor smiles. “And because of me, next year he has to have his own debut in the social season.” 

“Well look at us, muckin’ everythin’ up for everyone,” she shouldn’t snort, or find it humorous at all. But something tells her, Baldr having to participate in a social season is the least of the young man’s worries. 

“We’re positively horrible,” Thor jokes. She laughs and he smiles down at her. “I see you met Lady Karnilla.” 

“Yeah, she’s… _a beauty_. A bit presumptuous. Hela has a bit too much fun.” Rue plays with his strong hand, massaging his fingers. “Where abouts is Nornheim?” 

“Near the south, to the east. In Asgardian legend, it’s where the three Norns are from. Where people went to hear of their destiny. She can trace her entire line there, in Nornheim. Her family is very powerful,” he recalls the history easily, like it’s been pounded into his brain by now. “I’ve always found her to be a bit of a brat. She’s only 20 so I’ve chalked it up to that.” Rue makes a face, realizing just how young some of the women are. She swallows down the realization that everyone around here seems to have their life mapped out before them. “My mother likes her mother so I’ve tried to get along with her. And her father Duke Karl has made many charitable _donations_ to make sure we know that they can. Of all of the women...she’s the one with a wealth on par with our own.” 

“They would have picked her for you then?” Rue asks, trying to sound unaffected. 

“No, probably not, actually,” Thor says, “Baldr has been in love with her since they were young.” 

“Aren’t you absolutely chaffed about that then…” she smirks at him teasingly, and then remembers, “Thought you said she was a brat…” Rue asks, brow quirked. Thor snorts. 

“I never said my brother was that great a judge of character.” He jokes. ”In truth, it’s unfair of me to judge her based on the little I know about her. Bal knows much more.” 

“So why haven’t they been made a pair… arranged marriage is still around, no?” 

“Unfortunately,” Thor shrugs, he knows just how foreign that is to her still. “Customarily, most family’s shoot for the Crown Prince, not his little brothers. Power and wealth go hand in hand, but being the future _Queen_ is a perk all on it’s own.” 

“That’s...sad.” Rue says, and he silently agrees. “You know, I’ve always liked you for you, right?” 

Thor turns towards her, as she sits up. He sets his foot firmly to stop the swinging chair. The Prince caresses her face, a thoughtful and touched expression on his charmingly handsome face. “Of course I have. I didn’t give you much of a chance—“ 

“I always _knew_ you had money,” she cuts him off. “You just have that air about you. But I never...I never cared about that. You were just lost trying to find a museum when we met.” 

He laughs, “Not my best moment…” he’d wandered off without security, as he’d say. Hogun would say he actively evaded them. In England, it’s not hard to become one in the crowd once you make it into town. Though, he can’t imagine trying to get away here in Asgard. His face is everywhere in the media; in papers, on tv. 

“Actually… I liked that; meeting a handsome and polite tourist.” 

“Oh yeah? You just stopped to help me because I’m cute?” Thor is teasing her, and she shoves his shoulder playfully. 

“ _No…_ maybe. _Whatever_.” She leans back into him, after he steals a kiss. “Tell me more about the would be Queens. I’d like to know who they are, no surprises I guess. You should have seen me standing there with my mouth open like a damn fish when Karnilla came over.” 

“Sorry about that… I should have done more to prepare you today instead of being so caught up in simply having you with me.” Thor sighs, “I’ve treated you a lot like...a _thing,_ today.” 

“No, you haven’t. I’ve had a nice time. And trust me, holding your hand through it, has been much easier for me. You were gone far too long,” she bites her lips uneasily, as she’s just admitted to feeling a little codependent on him. She doesn’t quite like that, knowing she’ll have to get used to him being gone for periods of time. They’ll make it work. “Cmon..tell me about the women.” 

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldr returns. 
> 
> Thor puts his foot down (almost).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I wanted to get it out as I work to continue into the next few chapters before posting. It won’t be nearly as long as it’s taken me to update (and I’m sorry for that.) Thank you to everyone who’s read this and left a comment, or even kudos. I appreciate you all. 
> 
> Character FCs: 
> 
> Baldr: Liam (You know the one...duh LOL)  
> Amora: Margot Robbie  
> Lorelei: Emma Stone  
> Idunn: Rose Huntington-Whiteley  
> Sera: Aiza Gonzales  
> Sigyn: Sonoya Mizuno

  
Tora looks at her simple black and silver watch, entering Rue’s bedroom. The young woman has been napping before dinner is set to take place in the next hour, and waking her now gives Rue ample time to prepare for dinner with the royal family. 

Tora stands in her uniform, leaning over the edge of the bed. “Lady Rue, if you’d like a bit of time in the bath, you will need to get up now…” 

Rue makes a bit of a whimper, scratching at the nape of her neck as she comes to. She wipes the sleep from her eyes, nearly poking herself with her nails as she glances at the handmaid. “What time is it?” 

“5:07,” Tora answers simply. “I’ve started your bath—eucalyptus, lemon and peppermint scented. The combination should help with the morning sickness you’ve complained about this afternoon.” 

After they’d come home from the derby picnic Rue started to feel a little sick. And Thor would’ve called for a doctor had she not assured him her morning sickness was normal. She’d felt a little queasy after lunch, all the smells blending together in the venue. They left soon after and whatever guilt she’d felt for his departure with her melted away when she realized just how tired she was. 

“Thanks Tora…” she sits up gingerly, stretching her limbs. She’d really needed that nap. 

“I haven’t set your clothes, I know you like to pick your own. But I’m to warn you...Dinner is never a casual affair m’lady. And I believe Baldr has landed home this afternoon.”

“Good to know...thank you.” Rue beams at the young woman as she kicks her bed sheets away. Tora begins making her bed as she rushes to the bathroom.

Rue kind of dreads the idea of dinner. She knows just how messy their last family gathering went for her. And god help her if Baldr isn’t happy with her being there either. Though, from what Thor said, she doesn’t suspect he will react as his mother and brother did.

She soaks in the bath until the water is cool. She does feel better though, and attributes it to the nap and the bath. She’s had quite a bit of time to let the nausea settle. She hasn’t actually vomited in quite some time. 

Once she’s bathed and clothed—Tora suggested a simple blue dress with lace decal in the picture of flowers—Brunhilde works at her hair. The thick braids are easily manipulated in the half up half down hair do and she rushes back into the bathroom to brush her teeth and moisturize her face. With time dwindling she gives herself one last look before heading to the door. She wears cream flats on her dainty feet as opposed to heels. She can’t force herself to walk in them a moment longer. 

Thor is walking down the hall towards her when she steps out of her room; Sif is right there. 

“Rue,” she says, smiling. She calls her by name, as requested. “I would escort you, but it seems your Prince has arrived.” There's a twinkle of affection in her eyes that Rue would be blind to not notice. But Thor seems unaware. 

“You look nice,” She says instead to the Prince; off a nod to the guard. 

“As do you,” He leans down to kiss her cheek, swiping a smudge of moisturizer she didn’t blend at her neck. “Enjoy your nap?” 

“Yes,” She giggles, hooking her hand in the crook of his arm. “I would have liked it even more if you’d stayed. Remind me again why we aren’t sharing a room.” 

“I thought you’d like your own space,” he says, brows furrowed. “You dont?” 

“It's a nice room. I’m _not_ complaining. But I know there will be days where the only time I’ll see you is before bed,” She says sadly. She doesn’t want to sound so needy but in a palace where not everyone is thrilled to have her, she’s feeling incredibly tethered to him, pregnancy notwithstanding. She stops momentarily, “I guess I just want to know if I'll be able to see you—you’re not just putting me up somewhere.” And thus, the insecurity arises. She feels stupid. This is unlike her, she’s never had to be the center of his universe, why the sudden change? “I’m sorry. I’m being a baby.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I get it. I knew this could potentially be hard on you. I’m sorry I haven’t done a good job of reassuring you.” 

“No, you have!” Rue argues. “I’m just… just—I don’t know… hormonal I guess. But with the cat out of the bag, I don’t see why we can’t share. Unless of course you want your own room. Ugh, God, of course you do. Sorry I said anything…I didn’t even think about that.” 

“Rue…” he chuckles, cupping her cheek and getting her eyes to settle on his, “It was just an untoward suggestion I didn’t want to make before my parents knew just how attached we are—two unwed adults sharing a room. But it’s okay. I can have your things moved to my closet, it’s not a big deal. Of course if you want to really live with me, I want it. If you love it, I love it.” 

“Yes,” Rue nods, as he wipes her eyes. When did she even start crying? Curse her pregnancy hormones. “I’d like that. This is a big place. I’d feel better knowing I’m spending nights with you.” 

“Then consider it done,” he pushes one of the two single braids she’s left loose, behind her ear. She reaches up, scratching the stubble growing on his face. “I need to shave.” 

“I like it,” she smirks, taking his hand then. They’ve stopped in the center of the hall, still a way to go before they reach the family’s casual dining hall. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yep,” Brunhilde follows beside him towards dinner, “So, your brother is home…”

“Finally,” Thor smiles, “He’s the best of us. And I’m sure he’ll be happy to regale everyone with stories from his trip.” 

“A pleasant distraction then…” 

“Absolutely.” 

They arrive just as Baldr enters the room. He’s hugging Aldrif, smiling ear to ear as she presses her hands to his chest. “Let me get a look at my favorite,” She beams and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re only saying that because Thor isn’t here,” he says, good natured and laughing. She chuckles, shoving him away. 

“I’m here,” Thor announces, grinning as their baby brother looks at them. Rue is struck dumb by how much the young man favors Thor. He has the same low-set brows and bright blue eyes. Baldr has fuller lips and a wider nose, an eternal youthfulness about his face. He’s slightly taller than Thor, only a hair. “Brother…” he smiles, hugging the young man. When they pull away from their brotherly embrace, he looks at her. 

“You must be Brunhilde,” Baldr smiles warmly at her, the deep timber of his voice is still soft and almost playful. 

“I am. Please, call me Rue.” She accepts the handshake and he nods. 

“Come, let’s sit!” Aldrif procures, beckoning everyone to their seats. Baldr sits beside Thor and Brunhilde. Aldrif and Hela have already told him the way Loki has behaved and wordlessly decided he’d take the middle brother’s seat. 

Loki sweeps into the room, a smirk on his face that makes Rue swallow thickly with rage. Hela and Skurge are behind him, arm in arm as their tif seems settled. Rue hasn’t spoken to the man very much, but he doesn’t seem bad. 

The meal gets under way as the king and queen sweep into the room. They don’t command conversation, as they are much too annoyed with Thor still. Baldr tells them all about Botswana, the work done there and the trip in general. The organizers sent their regards. He doesn’t dwell on it long. He asks of Hela’s speech. 

“It’s coming along,” The eldest shrugs. “Lars is tired of hearing it.” 

“ _Incredibly,”_ his tone is deadpan, earning a round of chuckles. Though they’d seemed comfortable when they’d arrived, they sit much further from one another than Thor and Rue do—and slightly turned away from one another. 

“Today’s festivities went off without a hitch?” Baldr asks, casually scratching his nose with his thumb. He picks at dinner; chicken, peas, potatoes. There were rounds of appetizers and finally the entree. Next will be dessert. 

“Mostly,” Aldriff replies. 

“The season continues?” There’s a silence, and Baldr glances around the table. “What have I missed?” 

“Well brother,” Thor inhales, looking to his youngest sibling. “Rue and I are expecting.” He gives it pause, and Baldr’s brows lift. 

“Serious?” 

“Yes,” Rue nods, as Thor answers. 

“Congratulations, that’s wonderful news!” He beams. The siblings all smile at the youngests enthusiasm. He doesn’t look to his parents, as he’s already imagined they are displeased. 

“So Loki has so graciously offered to take my place as Asgard’s most eligible bachelor.” Thor watches as Baldr actually laughs. Hela and Aldriff smile behind their glasses. Skurge snorts softly. 

“What’s so funny?” Loki finally snaps. “It should have been me all along.” 

Baldr rolls his eyes, “Poor ladies. Who will tolerate you for an eternity?”

“Don’t be a prick,” Loki bites back. 

“That’s enough.” Odin interjects. “Let us have _one_ peaceful meal.” 

“I apologize, Father,” Baldr sounds sincere, Rue notes. He looks at his brother. “Who’s participating this year, again?” 

“Amora and her sister Lorelei,” Frigga begins quickly. “Lovely as ever. Karnilla, Idunn, Sigyn and Sera.” 

“All far too good,” Hela smirks. Loki sneers at her from where his chair is squeezed at the table beside his brother in law. Though, it’s well documented that Hela finds Karnilla to be most unpleasant—a condescending trollop to say the least. It’s not very nice—and Hela doesn’t care. She’s fine being the only one to think it.   
  


“I’m particularly fond of Karnilla,” Loki says snidely and Baldr stiffens, squirming uncomfortably as his older brother smirks at him. 

Aldrif rolls her eyes as she picks at her food. “Don’t be cruel,” she comments. 

“What?” Loki shrugs, “I can take my pick.” 

“You’d be lucky to have her.” Baldr replies, confident in his response. Rue rubs her stomach uncomfortably but interested in the dynamics at play during this meal. 

“She’s uninteresting,” Loki says flippantly. 

“So you’re interested in someone after all?” Frigga steers the conversation. “Idunn is a savvy business woman.” 

Rue is reminded of what Thor told her of all the women. Idunn of Vanaheim. She is beautiful with high cheekbones and full lips. Her long blond hair is like silk. She’s far too beautiful for Loki, and she and Thor had a brief history that Rue couldn’t imagine won’t be awkward in the future. She’s approaching her mid twenties and has her own skincare line. And for what they know, it would be a pretty successful business venture for them. Loki would acquire some profit, as part of marrying in, sharing her income. It made Rue cringe to think about. 

  
  


“Far too smart to fall for Loki,” Hela jokes. Loki’s expression falls. She’ll never pass up the opportunity to annoy her little brother. 

“I’ll have you know, she’s quite taken with me.” He sounds haughty and offended. “They all are.” In his heart of hearts, Sigyn of Zanadu is his favorite. She’s quiet, shy around him. She has dark, slanted monolid eyes with thick lashes. Her brows are low and thick. Her long hair is almost black like his. Her cool toned skin is tanned from the recent bout of sun Asgard is getting. He notices her from across a room but pretended not to upon all the times he saw her. “I’ll be sure to leave one of them for you.” 

“You talk of them as though they are objects to give away,” Baldr exhales away the anger he feels bubbling under the surface. For all his sweetness, Odin’s youngest has had issues with his anger in the past. Brunhilde gets a sense of it as he clenches his cloth napkin in his hand. 

“Aren’t they?” 

“You think of our sisters this way?” Baldr presses. Their mother sighs heavily. 

“Of course not—our sisters have rather large dowries. Isn’t that right Skurge?” He smirks behind his glass. 

“Enough,” Frigga looks as though she could jump through her skin. 

“Al has never shown interest in—“

  
  


“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Aldrif immediately snaps with the stern timber she rarely uses. 

“That’s enough,” Odin finally interferes. “You lot are embarrassing us in front of our guest.” 

  
  


It takes Rue a moment to realize he means her. Just yesterday she still thought her presence to be nothing less than earth shattering. 

“I—“ 

  
  


Thor’s hand slides into hers and he clears his throat, he knows how she’d love to rip the old man a new one. But that’s not how things are done. 

She's like a thorned rose in a concrete mixer. 

“How long will you be staying here anyway?” Loki asks. 

They laugh, looking at one another before Thor breaks off. “Well, we’re having a child. Eventually we’d like to be married and—“ 

“You can’t be serious.” Loki seems to be the only one in disbelief. When he doesn’t appear to change his mind, neither of them seem to be joking. Loki looks to his mother. “He can’t—“ 

“Let me make myself clear,” Thor begins, sternly. “I intend to be a father to the child she is carrying, and a present husband.” He looks at Rue, who looks like she could leap into his arms. “I know I have responsibilities...as heir to the throne, Father. I believe I can do good, be a strong and wise leader such as you have been. But Brunhilde is in my life now, whether or not you’ll have me as a King or a son.” 

Odin seems to consider his words heavily but says nothing. Thor’s siblings stare at their glasses as Odin clears his throat, expecting there to be an outburst or two. But Frigga as well, holds her tongue. 

“We will have a word after supper.” 

The meal is finished in tense silence. Rue feels the sinking of dread. 


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between Odin and Thor are...a bit tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has gotten way more intense than I intended lol

Odin has been King of Asgard since he turned 23, nearly 60 years ago. He’s seen plenty of things, people, predicaments. And yet he was not prepared for his oldest son to take every opportunity to disappoint him. 

Since his son became a man, reigning over his youthful whims has proven to be the most taxing on his patience. He’s dealt with England for years, recently, looking for partners for his unwed daughter Aldriff (she’s made it her mission to remain unmarried, it seems). He thought there was nothing to being ruffling—before allowing his son to take a Holiday to wherever he chose. Thor returned with unmistakable happiness and undaunted joy. Odin immediately called for discrete prying and investigation from a private eye. 

He’s known about Brunhilde since the beginning—he thought Thor would see sense and leave her behind once he was bored of her. And Thor _has_ been easily bored in the past. He’s unsure of what to do with being wrong. But the Queen hasn’t allowed him much time to figure it out. She’s incessantly upset with Thor’s choice to not go through with the season and a short engagement. It is the way; Thor has always questioned the status quo. 

He sits in the ornate chair of his Royal Office that overlooks a small pond on the grounds. He doesn’t pay much attention to it anymore and he will not be upset if his heir moves rooms entirely. Thor is standing before him, looking unsure of himself. “How will you rule a kingdom if you cower with fear in front of your father?” He isn’t serious of course, but their relationship isn’t what it was when Thor was a boy. He hasn’t quite accepted it. The joke falls flat. 

Thor’s ears turn red, his cheeks flushing as bright. “I’m not afraid of you. Quite the opposite actually.” As of late, he’s been more and more angry with his parents’ flippant regard of his guest. 

Odin clears his throat, conceding, but unhappy about it. “Sit down,” he commands like a king does when asking is no longer a luxury they are kind enough to afford. Thor seems stubbornly chuffed, as he’s been since Rue’s presence has been a permanent fixture at the palace. Eventually he sits. “Your mother had hoped I could change your mind.” 

Thor doesn’t give much away here, just sitting and staring at an inconsequential spot on the red oak and gold accented desk; he clears his throat then, “Truthfully father, I’m even less inclined to do anything that pleases either of you. I will do what is required of me, for the good of the country but nothing more. I’ve never felt more out of place.” 

“Your place will always be here. Whether you like it or not, my boy.” 

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that my life is not my own,” Thor says, disappointment apparent. “I’m pursuing happiness of my own and you don’t want that for me.” 

“You are having a child out of wedlock.” 

“It’s not the 1800s, Father.” Thor scoffs, folding his arms. “C’mon out with it, what do you want?”

Odin regards him for a few moments, lips pursed and his chin slightly lowered. He is quiet and pensive. “Do you honestly think she could be happy here?” 

“Not if Loki and Mother carry on.” Thor shakes his head, “the only thing Rue has done is come here at my request.” 

“Your childish behavior has not helped.” 

“My _what?”_ Thor is genuinely offended, “I’m trying to do the right thing.” 

“If that is your goal, you will make the girl miserable,” Odin is serious now too. “I may be old, but even I know that the modern woman doesn’t care for being disregarded.” Thor knows what he means and sighs. 

“That’s not what I mean,” Thor replies, “We discussed this. I want to be with her and her with me. I couldn’t just relinquish my birthright, could I?” 

“Is that something you even considered?” There’s a bite of anger. Thor is his heir, and despite his best efforts, he is going to be king. 

“Momentarily,” Thor shrugs, an unprincely action he doesn’t often do. “I don’t want to give up the crown; not really,” he looks at his father; dead in the eye, “but I would. For her—them—I would.” 

“You are being awfully idealistic,” Odin says, flatly. “ _Awfully.”_

“So be it,” Thor again shrugs. “She makes me happy. Doesn’t mother make you happy?” 

“It’s not the same. We found happiness, but I needed heirs. _Legitimate_ , _male_ heirs. Your mother was picked—and not from a season you’ve shaken with your _feelings.”_

“Can I not have this one thing?” Thor asks. 

“It’s not just one thing—like a car or even a vacation home in the islands. This is a civilian woman, and a baby.” 

“You know I didn’t think you of all people would have advocated I force a woman to have an abortion,” Thor wryly folds his arms. 

“Thor…” 

“What?” 

“You’re acting like a child,” Odin is not amused. 

“You’re speaking in circles, just say what you mean,” Thor huffs, hands upturned and pointed in his direction. 

“Send her away,” Odin finally says. “She has a mother in London, a family that will take her in. See to your duties uninter—“

“No,” Thor is adamant. He doesn’t even stop to register that his father knows about Rue’s family in London. And that he hasn’t divulged much about her (he hasn’t quite yet accepted that is his mistake). 

“I beg your pardon…” Odin’s hand is on the desk, finger pressing into the wood. “Did you mishear me?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Thor shakes his head. “I didn’t.” He can’t believe what he’s hearing, being encouraged to shirk a new found duty. “I won’t do it.” 

“You have responsibilities. A _name,_ to carry.” 

“I have a responsibility to _her_ now too,” Thor argues. “And I refuse to be a disappointment for Rue. She came here, for me, for a future I promised to provide. I will not—“ 

“It will never work. You’re different. Whatever future you’ve imagined—the media will chew her up and spit her out before you ever see it.” 

“Give her a chance,” Thor all but begs, sighing the words like they’re breaking his heart. “Please. I lo—“ 

“No, you don’t!” Odin slams his hand, “Dammit Thor! She _doesn’t_ know you, this life or this kingdom! She’s a stranger you’ve transplanted here with some misplaced idealist view of love and being in love. Your heart is still young and you have a lot to learn. You are being ruled—“ 

“Father, she is staying if she wants to stay,” Thor can’t be convinced. “I want her here. I want to be a father. And I still want to be king.” 

“This isn’t a game you can play,” Odin grits his teeth. “I have one concern—“ 

“Yourself. As always,” Thor stands. “I am not you, don’t you see? I’m not going to be the king that you are. And I don’t want to be.” He walks to the door, ready to leave before his father is done—a sin he will probably pay for later. But he stops at the exit. “And leave her alone. You’ve played your hand my entire life, leave her alone. Or I swear, I will kick up such a stink, the entire palace will fall on our heads as she makes her escape.” 

His father’s reply stops him again. “They will never accept her.”

Damn him. 

Thor can’t escape fast enough. He nearly runs Sif over. 

“Your highness?” Sif catches him before he straightens, unconsciously pressing his hands to her shoulders to manufacture more distance. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” 

“It’s alright,” she looks worried. “Doesn’t seem like you ever see me these days,” she chuckles. 

He smirks, “I’m sorry. Been..”

“Busy?” Sif laughs. “That's the story, mm? The story of us.” He doesn’t laugh at the memory of their youthful tryst—thank gods actually, her ego is bruised and her heart still broken—she knows something is wrong. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

He puts on a fake smile, “Yes, I’m alright.” He lies. 

“You know, you’ve always been a shit liar,” Sif presses wryly. He isn’t bothered by her candor, per se. They’ve been close enough since they were children, her father was on Odin’s security detail until he no longer could be. In their early twenties, they acted on years worth of confusing feelings, only for titles and responsibilities to get in their way. Sif took it mostly in stride. Her heart is no longer broken, but she often wonders what could have been. Maybe she hasn’t taken to a world where they can’t make it work. Maybe they didn’t do all they could. There’s still a flicker of something. 

  
  


“You’ve always been a bit rude.” Thor smiles down at her. They begin down the corridors and halls, back towards where he is headed to meet Brunhilde, his mind weighed down with a million worries. 

  
  
  
  



	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer* Please take a look at the tags. Jump ship if you need to—I won’t be mad at you.

  
She’s having a bath when Thor returns to the rooms they now share. Brunhilde thought her bathroom was nice...she hadn’t seen his. The tub sinks into the ground in the middle of the room. Decorated with decadent black, red, and white decals. Deep swirls of gold that match his bedroom make it feel like it belongs. The shower takes up a corner, red tile making up the base of the stall, with black frosted glass. The minimal makeup she brought takes up one of the counters. Natural light comes in through balcony windows, the curtains drawn. She feels small in this bathroom, hell in the palace. 

Thor watches her from the doorway, listening to her hum along to the _Essential Whitney Houston_ playlist she loves, playing from the bluetooth hooked up. The sound drifts from the bathroom, through the room and faintly into the hallway. Her feet wiggle to the beat, sending a current through the large tub. She looks content, hands rubbing her belly absently. 

She looks up at him as the song fades to another. “ _My Love is Your Love”_

_If tomorrow is judgment day_

_And I'm standing on the front line_

_And the Lord asks me what I did with my life_

_I will say I spent it with you_

_If I wake up in World War III_

_I see destruction and poverty_

_And I feel like I want to go home_

_It's okay if you're coming with me_

Brunhilde all out laughs, watching Thor press one hand to his chest, and use another to point at her. “Cmon, don’t be shy now, baby.” 

With a grin, she moves to the edge of the tub. Smiling, she sings along to the song, eyes on him as he goofily dances around the room. 

_“'Cause your love is my love_

_and my love is your love_

_It would take an eternity to break us_

_And the chains of Amistad couldn't hold us”_

He joins her singing, grabbing her robe left out for her on the ottoman near the tub. The music fades into the background as she laughs, and stands out of the water. He embraces her as she’s wrapped in her fluffy robe. She smells like honey and almond oil. 

“Alexa, off _,”_ he calls to the dot connected to the stereo and the music cuts off. While he’s rubbing Brunhilde’s arms, she presses closer, looking up at the man who stands a foot taller than her. 

“You’re a goofball, you know?” 

“I’ve been told, once or twice.” He smirks, “you’re the only one who can get away with such a thing. I’m a very princely heir.” 

She chuckles and he takes her hand to lead her from the bathroom, “I have to drain the tub!” 

“I’ll do it later. You get dressed, I would like to speak with you about what my father was on about for our little meeting.” He’s sending her out, walking back to release her bath water. He’s appearing calm, but his father really rattled some of his confidence and he’s afraid of what the king will do. He’d like to make sure she’s prepared. As the reality of what could come of the attempts on their joy. 

Brunhilde then feels worry take hold of her. He’d been gone long enough for her to watch two episodes of an Asgardian cooking show and take a bath. 

Her clothes were unpacked some time ago, put away in the space had cleared and what had already been empty. The walk-in fits a vanity—with large privacy windows that still let in a tonne of natural lighting. There are perfect white lights and a big mirror on the vanity, with her skincare put away in one of the few drawers. 

She slaps on her serums, toner and moisturizer just as Thor finds her in there. He smiles at her from the entrance. 

“I’m glad you made it to your liking. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“I’m happy to hide in your rooms when you can’t be with me.” She laughs. But at some point, she’d like to venture around on the grounds alone—alone as she can be. For all intents and purposes, she’s going to be protected like a royal. “So how’d it go with your father?” 

Thor let’s out a huff, “It’s difficult to imagine he could possibly be less disinterested in what will make me happy.” 

“And that would be?” She has her back turned to him, but her expression would give away her anxieties. 

“A seamless transition into the new normal around here, but I don’t see him being of much help to us.” Thor sighs. He doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t want to put this on her, but he doesn’t want to keep anything from her. But he also doesn’t see the good in telling her Odin would happily send her off into the sunset. “He reminded me that no one will make this easy for us, for you.” 

She turns around to face him, “What do you mean?” 

“The media mostly, their scrutiny can really mold how the public sees you.” He scratches his thumb to his scruff. “Not that they won’t love you, but we can’t afford anything less. And high society can be...cruel.” 

“I expected as much.” She flattens her lips, mouth slightly curved. He smiles as she drops her robe without thought or inhibition. He folds his arms and drops his gaze in thought as she continues. “I knew this was goin’ to be a big deal. We both did, yeah?” She dresses in a sweater and leggings, and a pair of flip flops he’s seen her wander around her own apartment in. “But...I love you and I’m willing to be here and stick it out with you.” She approaches where he’s slunk to the floor along the wall; slinking down beside him. 

“I love you, too.” He says. They don’t say it much, neither are particularly mushy when it comes to the L word. And it feels too soon sometimes but there’s no other way to describe what they feel in the moment. He’s not quite sure how many times he’s said it in his life, and she thinks people over use it. But they love one another. He knows, she has to love him for her to willingly put up with the last few days. “I want you to be happy here. And I’ll do whatever I can to make sure—“ 

“I’m happy just being with you, Thor.” She folds her arms around his. “This—“ she looks around the room, “is a lot for now, but we’re just us. Rue and Thor. Thor and Rue. And soon we’ll be parents and we’ll be a family. That’s all I want, really. That’s my cake...everything else is just icing.” She leans up to steal a small kiss. With a smirk, “you told your family you want to marry me, you know?” 

He winces, “I did say that out loud.” She laughs and he grins. “I’d like that. Would you?” 

She’s considered this, and while they’re having a baby, she can’t imagine how nuclear his parents would be if they ran off to get married. “I would…” 

“But…” 

“How much of a dent do you think you can really afford to put in your reputation?” It breaks her heart to consider such things. “I—we can’t.” 

He sighs heavily, “Not now huh…” 

“I don’t want to be the reason you can’t do what you’re meant to do.” 

“And if I said damn it, I don’t care?” He asks, an inner battle in his mind. 

“I’d say you were lying. This is where you’re meant to be. And this comes with being with you. I can handle it.” She just needs him to be her rock. He needs to be in this with her. And they’ve discussed it. They’re a team. He kisses her again, pressing firmly as he gives her a languid kiss, following with short, soft pecks. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” He says, “but say the word, and we’ll be ou—“ 

“We shouldn’t speak it into the universe.” Brunhilde cuts him off, but not without grace. Her tone is soft, but assured. “We can do this. You’re going to rule this place. I _won’t_ let you not.” She laughs. 

The spark is in her eyes, and he knows his father was wrong. She’s going to survive this place. They’re going to be okay. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Hela is perturbed when she finds her husband lounging in the pool house on the palace grounds. He’s not at all exposed back there, despite the open wall covering. There’s modern, cream and gold furniture. Linens and airy material. There’s the signature Asgardian swirly designs about the walls and carved into the wood accents on the bar. 

They’ve been having their problems but divorce is _still_ frowned upon by high society and the church, supposedly the gods disprove. So they are still married but not fixing anything. He’s an endlessly frustrating man who doesn’t take anything seriously. She has been cold as a result. 

He feels her presence. “You find use for me?” 

His words irritate her. “Are you finally bringing one of your whores to galavant through my father’s halls?” He grits his white, but subtly crooked teeth.

Even in his early forties, he still has a boyish charm. And all that does is annoy her. They were different places when they married. And she was too young, untouched by the reality of a political union to make such a commitment. But they’ve been married for 12 years and have struggled with fertility, and his wandering eye. She’s stopped letting it make her cry at night, staunch eyes staring into her vanity. She hides her pain behind sarcasm and callousness aimed at him and pretty much everyone else. Her siblings are the most important people in her lives, but even they are barely spared. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Maybe I could shoulder that shame, but not for you.” 

“Brave of you.” She grits out. He stares at her as she sits down. “I want to talk about the derby and how you couldn’t even feign an ounce of interest in me, your wife.” 

He squints at her, “What are you on about—“

She pours herself a drink from the crystal decanter a servant has set out for him. “I saw you flirting with those opportunistic leeches who plague the season.” 

“I was being nice, something you know nothing about.” He looks away bitterly, drinking his own beverage. He pauses and looks at her again. “I’m getting really tired of this.” 

“Oh? Tired of what? Being rich and—“ 

“Your accusations and your coldness.” He stands then, nearly pacing, frustrated. “You couldn’t even come over here and be nice to me. You think I wanted to spend a party following you around while the dark cloud of your hatred for me colors your every word?” 

She swallows thickly. 

“I _hate_ fighting with you. I almost always think I hate _you_ half the time. Forgive me if I want pleasant conversation over a stupid horse race once in a while. Sue me. But don’t pretend you don’t _get_ it.” 

He marches off, pissed. Her eyes are brimmed with tears, angry and sad. But Baldr approaches, having missed their fight, and nearly getting run into by his brother in law. He sees his sister wipe at her eyes. 

Baldr presses a hand to her shoulder, startling her unintentionally. She barely jumps though. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” she smiles, but it appears like any other of her smirks. 

“What’s happened?” He asks, seeing that her eyes are brimmed red. 

“Nothing’s happened. Come sit with me, little brother.” 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Baldr plops inelegantly down onto the sofa. “And don’t pivot and tell me that it’s none of my business.” 

She smiles a rare, but bright smile after trying to breathe the tears back in, “I believe I’m the one that’s supposed to comfort you.” 

Her youngest brother smirks, "You've always been shit at it.” 

“Don’t let Father come round and hear you, he’ll have a fit.” There’s no bite to her tone, like there usually is. 

“Are you trying to change the sub—“

“My husband and I aren’t in love.” She looks at her sibling then, and the only sound around is the soft hum of the swimming pool filtration system. “We never have been.” 

Baldr is a hopeless romantic at his core—along with his sometimes conflicting views on duty and honor—he has no idea which part of his heart reaches out to his sister. “I think he wants to love you.” 

Hela stares at him with a quirked brow. “What do you know of love?” It’s unfair actually, and biting again like she normally is. 

“I know what it’s like to put the Crown before what you want, even if you’re the spare.” Baldr shrugs. He doesn’t let her push him away with her lashing anger. “And I know, that even in our weird, restrictive family, I love you and the rest of our family. And I want to see you happy.” She takes a moment to consider him, he reaches to pat her hand before giving it a squeeze. 

“I _want_ him to love me,” Hela admits. “But I don’t agree that he does.” 

“I won’t pretend to have anything figured out. But I know you. And you’re not a quitter.” 

"Some things can’t be fixed.” The rebuttal is swift. 

“So get a divorce.” He shrugs simply.

“And kill Mother and Father?” Hela chuckles. 

His brows scrunch teasingly. “Mother would be dramatic for a moment.” She doesn’t offer anything but a rolling of the eyes and he laughs. As they sit in silence, he considers her again. “I think it’s admirable that you chose for everyone and not just yourself.” 

“It was stupid. I should have been selfish.” Scoffing, she flips her hair. 

“But you wanted to do the right thing...for the stability of the family. Skurge has served this country, he understands duty.” She knows what he’s trying to do, even if he’s misguided. Pride won’t let her mouth form the words to call her husband a whore. Baldr sighs as he sees the wheels turning. “Whatever the case between you two—“and he does know the rumors,”—I don’t think you should make a choice in anger.” 

_I’m always angry,_ she thinks. _I could do whatever I wanted if I were Queen. I could divorce my fool of a husband and no one would dare utter a judgement against me._

She laughs to herself. She doesn’t want to be the Queen. She doesn’t even want to divorce Skurge. She wants him to be loyal and faithful. He is hers. And she will get him to act like it. 

* * *

  
  
  


Thor and Brunhilde silently walk into his mother’s sitting room upon the announcement of their arrival. Rue curtsies politely. “Your Majesty.” 

“You wanted to see us, mother.” Thor cuts directly to the chase as his mom directs them to sit. She doesn’t seem to be in a foul mood—hopefully it’s a sign her good nature is back in place of her obtuse mood of the last couple days. 

“Yes,” She replies. The young couple sit at the round table with Pepparkaka and English muffins sitting out ready to eat. There’s jams, and butter for the muffins. There’s a platter of berries for Brunhilde to pick at if she desires—quick snack for what she hopes is a pleasant enough conversation. “Please, have whatever you desire, Brunhilde.” 

The woman looks uneasy, unsure of what they’d walked into this time. The last time she’d seen the Queen, the woman was in the middle of scolding her grown son. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

She nods once. “I’ll cut right to the chase; The King and I think it would be best if you two married...as quickly as possible.” 


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gods laugh at Rue and Thor’s wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope you found some kind of joy over the holiday. If you couldn’t quite get there? I feel that too. 
> 
> Here’s to 2021. May it suck less.

Brunhilde could laugh hysterically, if not for the stark look on Frigga’s face. Thor, for the most part, seems unmoved. But she knows that’s because he’s thinking of his response and of the two of them, she’s the one with the expressive face—poker isn’t her strong suit. 

The heir apparent sucks in a breath. “I don’t know that we are ready—“ 

“You’re having a child,” the Queen cuts him off. “We are well past that, my son.” 

Brunhilde folds her hands, looking at Thor, second guessing if she’s speaking out of turn; ultimately this is upsetting because she is not the woman to be afraid to speak her mind. “We’ve discussed this...so recently, this is eerie.” 

“You proposed?” She asks her son, suddenly confused, if the tilt of her head is anything to go by. 

“No,” Brunhilde chuckles, “we thought it would make a bigger mess to suddenly announce that we are engaged.” 

“How far along are you?” Frigga asks, and the couple across from her can see the wheels turning. 

“11 weeks tomorrow.” Brunhilde lets a smile come to her lips, not worried about what comes next. Also, who hates a Friday? 

“We’ll say you’ve been engaged for 6 months. And did not tell us until you returned from your recent trip to London.” 

“Wait,” Thor laughs, “We didn’t agree—“ 

“It wasn’t a question,” the Queen says, and Brunhilde feels the air get sucked out of her chest. “If this is the route you want to take…” 

“Mother…” Thor sighs. “I just discussed living my own—“ 

“You are the future of this monarchy.” Frigga says sternly. “There are traditions. We cannot have  _ bastards _ in the royal family. We are supposed to be the ideal, above that kind of thing.” 

Brunhilde clenches her jaw, “I’ll do whatever, but do not call my baby a bastard again. I’ve  _ had it,  _ with you people—“

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I’m not some whore, and the baby I’m carrying will be a human being. Your grandson, a  _ prince _ , ma’am.” Brunhilde is serious, and this could be a bad thing. But the Queen smirks. 

“Fine.” Honestly, Frigga is impressed. She was wondering when Brunhilde would really crack out of her shy shell. She had a little blowing out with Loki, but seemed regretful the next time she saw them. She is serious about this. And the Queen supposes she can deal with that. 

And Brunhilde...she could be dangerous. These situations are tricky. And other countries have dealt with huge scandals, Asgard will not be another. 

Wordlessly, she reaches for a side table drawer and removes a little jewelry box. “This was the diamond, Odin proposed to me with. I don’t wear it anymore, and don’t find I have much use for it. I realize the modern woman wears both her engagement ring and wedding band.” She hands it to Thor, and he and Brunhilde look at one another. He’s telling her: we won’t do it if you don’t want to. 

_ I can handle it. I can.  _

The Queen continues, “It would be a sign of acceptance from the Crown. The statement will be released sometime tomorrow. By Monday, the press will want pictures of you together. And maybe a sit down interview with a journalist close to us. This is how it will be.” Frigga, for all her bristly demeanor at first, is very pragmatic. And Brunhilde can see that now. 

This feels too fast, but like the natural progression for a family that’s about saving face. She hadn’t really thought of such a thing, considering they’re royalty. They made the rules, to the little girl who fantasized about being a princess when she was still a youngin. She hadn’t considered parliaments and political parties. 

“You can have the wedding you want—it will be done quickly but perfectly.” Frigga seems to be trying to convince the young woman across from her, the woman holding tightly to her son’s hand. 

Thor will make the right choice. He always does, in the end. For all his childish dreams of adventure, he always makes the right choice. Maybe Brunhilde will too. 

Brunhilde just wants to be happy. And she knows what it’s like to not be. This is the card dealt. And it’s not too bad, she gets to marry a prince—she loves him. 

The ring is a simple solitaire, with a good sized diamond she’d never be able to afford with a struggling musician’s salary. The band is silver, and nearly as shined as the diamond is reflective. The damned thing all but sparkles. The shallow, giddy little girl still within Brunhilde is screaming. 

“There will be less damage control when the story of your pregnancy breaks,” Frigga continues. “You will be married by then. And we have a story.” 

“We have only been together that long.” Thor rubs a hand on his knee. The ring is sitting on the elegant coffee table. Brunhilde laughs at the absurdity of the moment. Thor glances at her and begins to chuckle. “Would you absolutely hate it?” 

She shakes her head, “I told you, I knew there would be choices to make when I came here.” She doesn’t want to say too much in front of the Queen. 

“Don’t fret too much,” Frigga interrupts, “You’ll become Her Royal Highness, Princess of Asgard and the Realms. Future Queen.” 

“That wasn’t really the goal,” Brunhilde chuckles softly and looks to Thor, “but I’ll take it, I guess.” 

“Kind of you,” he jokes back. Reaching for the ring, he closes the case. 

“You should put it on now,” Frigga comments, figuring her son would like to pretend later and give it to his girlfriend in private but…”Only your father and I know of this plot. And it should remain that way. You brought her home to tell us you plan to marry. We give our support and to show this, I gave you the ring. We can have it resized if need be.” 

Neither says anything, but they nod dutifully. There’s very little room to argue. And the threat of being shut out is very prevalent in both their minds. Thor though, gets down on one knee before her. She shakes her head, thinking it’s sweet that he wants to make this...normal. He removes the ring from the case, and Rue sucks in a breath as he slides the ring on her finger. It fits comfortably. She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him. Their foreheads press together for a moment, as they share a breath. 

“Perfect.” The Queen nods as she sees the ring does fit. 

Thor kisses his new Fiancée’s hand as she gives him a resigned smile. “I have to call my mom.” She mutters, and Thor grins. He’s met the woman, she was most hospitable. She’s a yoga instructor in London. 

“And what of your father?” Frigga asks, fishing. Thor eyes her, frustrated. 

“I haven’t actually spoken to him in months.” She admits it with shame. Her relationship with her father is broken. Last she heard from him, he was teaching teenagers to play saxophone in California. 

Brunhilde comes from a single parent home, her father left when she was still in grade school; off to chase his dream, and other women and adventures. He reached out when his daughter was a teen, but the relationship hasn’t been the same since. Her mother, Grete, doesn’t speak about him much. And her daughter thinks it’s a broken heart unrepaired. She had been his muse for a long time, often singing along to the rich sounds of whatever instrument he played. Rue remembers it vividly. 

Thor has a sinking feeling his parents will judge hers harshly. He will have to prepare her for it. After her telling off his mother though, he doesn’t think it will be  _ spoken _ judgment, however. 

Frigga stands, signaling that they should too, but Thor has to get one other thing out. Something he and his now fiancée have been more concerned with than getting married “Brunhilde would like to find an obstetrician.” 

“He told me you have a list of trusted and  _ discrete _ doctors…” She adds, “I figured that would be better than me walking into a public office.” 

“I will have someone look into it. You’ll have a list by this evening.” 

They leave the room, Thor’s hand clutching Brunhilde’s. Servants bow as they leave, walking into the big hallway. 

“How awkward the season’s going to be  _ now.”  _ Thor laughs loudly and she joins. “What?! I’m serious.” 

“They’ll have Loki to soften the blow?” Thor offers. She shakes her head. Lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles again, “That didn’t go how I imagined.” He’s whispering so no one who should happen to pass by will hear. 

“Me neither,” she shrugs. “But it’s alright. None of this has gone according to much of a plan.” 

He makes a face, before changing the subject to a matter of food. “I’m hungry.”

“Your mum had all that food out!” 

“It wasn’t real food. I want a sandwich.” He shrugs. Calling over a member of the household staff over. “If anyone is looking for us, we’ll be in the kitchen.” 

It’s a bit of a trek to the elevators. Luckily, Valaskjalf is not Buckingham, in that it’s huge but not a small country. With four apartments—that are all fairly similar, there’s more than enough room for the entire immediate family and then some. But if she were to compare to the British castles...it’s  _ small _ . Thor’s only been in one of his parents’ rooms. But Aldrif and Baldr live together in one apartment, and Hela and her husband in another, with Loki getting an apartment closest on the east wing of the estate. 

Thor’s having a home built on a family owned piece of land closer to the metropolitan area. It’s nearly finished, and has taken two years to build. It took a lot of convincing his parents to let them come to terms with the idea. There was talks of commitment issues he was having, uncalled for in his opinion. He’s going to be King, not a prisoner to the monarchy like past monarchs have been. The prime minister was absolutely none too pleased. But Thor and Rue will have a place of their own soon enough. That will be so long as Odin is alive. 

He drags her out of the elevator, down the hall and out the back exit. There’s a cart parked on the gravel. “A golf cart…” 

“I’ll go slow?” He says, more like a question. He climbs into the cart, on the right side, and turns the key, the little engine turns over and starts. “The first floor is always crawling with tourists this time of year.” She nods in understanding. 

He goes slow as she hugs one of his arms across her body. He uses the other to drive on the bumpy gravel. They’re anchored to one another despite it. He ends up on the dirt pathway the servants frequent to their quarters. They pass the loggia and pool area, Baldr is sitting out with Aldrif. 

“DON’T BREAK OUR GUEST!” The princess yells and Brunhilde’s laugh echoes out as Thor waves his sister off. He’s looking ahead and to his sister as they drive past. 

“DON’T GET DRUNK AND FALL IN LIKE LAST TIME!” 

She flips up the bird. 

The couple laugh as they get by the area, “I like her,” Brunhilde says. Aldrif was the first to take some time to talk to her really. 

“I’m glad.” Thor nods, pulling the cart round the corner and to a slot near the staircase into the main kitchen on the estate—the main apartment where the king and queen spent their spring. “We’ll get to see more of her. You could probably go shopping together for more clothes. We’ll be pretty busy.” 

“What do we have to do?” 

He helps up the stairs and into the corridor. It’s not long before they’re in the servery, and then the kitchens. To neither’s surprise, there’s cooks and servants everywhere. But Thor doesn’t call attention to himself, and doesn’t make a fuss when he’s finally acknowledged with hurried bows and curtsies. He waves off help and goes right to the fridge to grab what he knows is there for just him. 

Brunhilde watches with a quirked brow as he grabs a baguette and rips it in half, and rips both halves down the side to open it. “ _ What  _ are you doing?” 

“The tuna sits better in the pockets of ripped bread,” he lifts and drops his shoulder casually. “Cheddar or swiss...or both?” 

“You brought me here for tuna melts?” She laughs, folding her hands under her chin. “Both.” He nods and assembles the simple thing. A servant quickly takes the bread with the cheese laid on one side of each and places it in a toaster without asking. Thor thanks him. Tora enters then, momentarily startled by the sight of her mistress there. 

“Tora!” Brunhilde greets her. She accepts a glass of water just as Tora curtsies to Thor. He smiles at her. “Dont worry, I wasn’t looking for you.” She can tell the young woman was momentarily worried. 

“I’ve brought her here to feed her, that’s all.” Thor teases, unwrapping lettuce from a bag kept in the fridge, it’s been washed and wrapped in a paper towel to soak up residual water. 

“Yes, your highness.” The brunette nods and folds her hands in front of herself. “Would you like some tea, madam?” 

Brunhilde nods, “I’d love some, now that I consider it. Something for the nausea, please,” she adds softly as she reaches to touch the young woman’s arm for her attention. She’s ignored the sickness for the most part—or at least, hasn’t complained—but it’s always there these days. 

“Right away, Madam.” She sees the pondering on her face. “Something else?” 

“The biggest cup you can find, a mug.” 

Tora nods in return. 

Soon the bread is in front of Thor again and he’s peeling back a Tupperware lid off a glass bowl. She’s shocked to see a leftover container. Really, it’s a recent development for him. 

“Is that tuna  _ diced _ ?” She asks then. “So posh…” 

He laughs, everything else drowning out around him as she finally sinks into the feeling of being seen there. She’s finding her footing still, but has relaxed some. 

“Canning this bluefin would be a crime, punishable offense. It’s better, trust me.” He argues, not feeling judged. But he knows it is his pedigree that has him absolutely refusing shredded to hell, canned tuna. Fish is one of their main dishes—they’re surrounded by water. Canned tuna is a travesty. 

When he is done. Putting her half in front of her, she thanks him but continues with: “I can’t eat this whole thing!” 

“It’s louder in here today, we’ll eat in the courtyard.” Thor leads her into the scullery, where there’s a door and a few steps down. There are outdoor tables, shiny wood picnic tables. 

“Shit, my tea…” Brunhilde pouts. 

“Where are you going?” Thor asks amusedly. But he knows where she’s headed. “You know, she’ll probably bring it out to you.” 

“Nothin’ wrong with my feet.” She answers, mouth full and accent thick. She covers her mouth.  _ Oops.  _ Thor has never really minded; though there has been teasing from both of them. With a thick and unladylike(whatever that really even means) burp, she’s waving at him from over her shoulder. “And don’t you say you can go...I’ll be back.” 

She walks back into the bustling rooms of the palace. The windows and natural light coming in, really opens up the space, considering how small this branch of the place actually is in comparison. She has a feeling Thor is really the only one who hangs around here. 

Tora nearly runs directly into her but side steps just in time. “Oh!” The soon to be bride catches her forearm and keeps her upward, splashing hot tea out of the cup and onto the saucer. “I’ll get you another!” Her ears are hot with embarrassment. She’s usually more careful with the swinging door. 

“No, it’s okay. Only a splash.” She is delighted to have a mug that requires two hands. “What’s this one?” 

“Just camomile and lemon, Madam.” She answers politely, “there is more if you’d like it, I should have brought the cart.” 

“This will be good, thank you.” She smiles to ease her, knowing she hadn’t said she’d been heading out. “There’s steps.” She lifts the mug slightly. “Thank you.” Pausing, she turns back, “I will be busy the rest of the afternoon, why don’t you take the day?” 

“Ma’am?” 

“Yeh.” She thinks for a moment, “do I get to decide that?” 

“Not usually,” she smiles, and it’s one of the few Brunhilde has gotten from her. “But I’ve finished my usual tidying with Gennie.” 

“Then,” Brunhilde shrugs, taking a sip of tea. “All done, me thinks. I’ll see you tomorrow. I figured out the bath this morning.” 

“Yes Madam. Thank you.” She notes the ring, “and congratulations!” 

Brunhilde thanks her with a big smile. She feels elation for a moment. She’s _ engaged.  _ With a little maneuvering and odd timing—considering the conversation she and Thor had before it all occurred. But it feels good despite everything. 

She nods and they go their separate ways, the future princess maneuvers her way around the people working and finds herself back outside. 

“I thought you’d gotten lost.” Thor says, halfway between the door and their seats. He was going to go looking for her. 

She laughs, “I stopped to speak to Tora. Gave her the afternoon off. I don’t really need her, honestly. I can dress myself and make a bed.” 

“She does more than that!” Thor chuckles, though he gets her greater point. Brunhilde would be more satisfied with getting her own things from where she needs them in the house. 

“Yeah, but it’s...it’s  _ silly _ for me to sit around. Not used to it.” She admits, but it just is. “And I’m not sure I want it any other way. And I know in a home this big, the reality is that they keep the place running. But I dunno.” 

“It’s a big change.” 

They make their way backs to the table and she sits long enough to take a few bites of food. Thor sits with his face on his fist. 

“How big is the house you’re having built? House? Manor? Fackin castle?!” She’s teasing a little and he takes it in stride. 

“It’s a house,” he scoffs as if he were a child caught in his mischief. He makes a show of it. She cackles and he smiles at her joy. “I'll take you to see it sometime soon. I have some engagements. Enjoy your freedom while you can.” 

She chuckles at his dramatic take on...work. She knows he doesn’t really mind. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rue finally gets in touch with her mother. And Thor brings another friendly...maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still here, writing away. And I’m realizing, this is probably going to be a bit of a novel. Yikes. I don’t know what I’m doing. 
> 
> Face casts: 
> 
> Grete Arden—Amanda Mealing. 
> 
> And a couple of surprises.

With Thor gone, Brunhilde took the time she had to rearrange her things in the closet to her specific liking. When she was done, she sat in her mirror and put her braids in a big twist away from her face, tying it off at the base of her head. They’re starting to grow out, but luckily, she does knotless braids, so they won’t look too bad. She can get a few more weeks out of them. She’ll have to hunt someone down for help with her hair—there’s no one there who would know where to start looking for a stylist with experience on black hair. The bit of panic was equally sad and maybe funny. 

Her makeup—with different degrees of coverage—are organized in the drawers, along with nail care in another. She isn’t really a type A, at all, but she likes the idea of minimalism. And she can’t function with too much clutter before becoming scatterbrained. Her music room at home, however, is a mess. Before Thor left, he mentioned a music room to her, and if she gets time in the next day or so, she’ll go put it to use. And hopefully, maintain it. 

She looks down at her hand, staring at the solitaire on her finger. It’s kind of insane to her. A lot of commitments are being made. And she knows a big part of this change is the push of duty. But damn if she’s not fine with it. 

A part of her is waiting for the shoe to drop. Being with Thor is like fire burning in your soul. Warm and raging. But she knows that life is not perfect. Nothing is.  _ Well, that’s a bit dark, innit?  _ She thinks to herself. 

She diverts to her nails and they need some help. They’ve been long but the acrylic is growing out. They’re not really the style of a royal’s hand—they have short and “natural” polish—but she likes them and she doesn’t see why she can’t keep them. So until someone tells her otherwise, she’s keeping them. There are other things she’ll have to compromise to make this work for the time being. Things are just tense between the King and Queen really. Some people, royal or not, are terrible with change. But she doesn’t do with unflinching unkindness. 

Through the years, she’s learned to go with the flow; life is ever changing, and fighting to control every aspect has only driven her to madness and depression in the past. It’s unresolved trauma probably. And she’ll do everything she can to make sure her child and future children grow up with the tools to handle change, loss, and sadness. Growing up with just her mom—who tried her best—was lonely for a long time. Rediscovering music when she was 16 really gave her something to  _ do.  _ Grete hadn’t loved it at first, more than happy to leave music in the chapter she closed on her ex-husband. But it made her daughter happy, and that made her happy too. Her mother has been her biggest supporter. In this too. 

Her mother had her reservations, but she’s always tried to nurture her daughter's adventurous nature. Life never has to stop being new and exciting. Plus, her daughter was going to leave anyway, while still appreciating the blessing to do what she felt she needed. Rue is never satisfied with not trying. 

Speaking of her mother, she really should give her a call. Quickly deciding to FaceTime, she plugs her MacBook charger into the outlet near the bed and makes herself comfortable. She gets it going and waits. Her mom answers after a couple rings. Her mother is only an hour behind so it’s around 4:30. 

_ “Sweetheart, I was just thinkin’ of you.” Her mother beams, wiping her hands in a dish towel. She’s sitting in her apartment, a grey liquid dripping down her forearm. Her salt and pepper hair is pulled back and held in place by chopstick hairpins. Her slightly tanned, softly wrinkled face, her small and refined nose, sticking out. Rue gets the upturn of her nose from her classically beautiful mother. She has grey streaks of something on her forehead.  _

With furrowed brows, Rue tilts her head. “What are you doin’, Mum? I catch you at a bad time?” Her mother beams, perfectly white and straight teeth. 

_Grete tosses_ _the towel off screen, “I’ve taken up pottery.” She looks down at the mound of misshapen mound and sighs. “It’s coming along.” She snorts._

“You’ll have to make me a vase for this occasion. I have some...news,” she's suddenly nervous and wondering what to say. She’s never lied to her mother before and is unsure of what details she should omit. She can’t think about it too long. Lifting her hand, she flashes the engagement ring. 

_ “Oh my GOD!” Grete never takes the lord's name in vain, but she is absolutely stunned. “When did this happen?!”  _

“Today!” Brunhilde giggles, her cheeks are reddened and she anxiously awaits her mother’s opinion. 

_ “Congratulations, my darlin,” she pushes the smile onto her face, reservations over the timing making her anxious. “Are you happy? Tell me what’s happened since you’ve gotten settled. I haven’t heard from you. Give me the details. What are they like? Stuffy and posh?”  _

Her daughter laughs softly and looks down at the ring again. She can’t believe the turn of events in recent days. “You mean, it’s not everywhere on the internet?” Her mother makes a face and she barks out a laugh. It’s only a moment before she’s solemn again. “It was a spotty beginning. You’d have been the first woman to ever punch Loki in the face.” 

_ “There’s still time,” her mother comments.  _

“He’s… my least favorite,” Rue says with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t think anyone could blame her. “Total wanker. Bit dodgy. He smiled at me one minute and the next called me a slut!” 

_ “I  _ **_beg_ ** _ your pardon?” Grete’s face scrunches in anger.  _

“Yes!” Rue exclaims, “The day I met him! Mum I couldn’t believe it!”

_ “I’ll throttle him.”  _

Rue snorts, still angry but amused by her mother’s supportive anger. “It’s cooled down since then. And for the most part, his other siblings have been welcoming. Aldrif is the second born, and so far she’s my favorite. She took me shopping before the races we went to.” She drones on about the story and her mother listens to her silently but nods at the appropriate times; restarting her attempts at making a bowl. 

_ “And we end up with you two engaged!” Her mom smiles at her, though she quits the clay again. “I’m happy for you, if you are happy, Hildee.”  _

She didn’t give her mom the details of the engagement and her mother also didn’t ask; glossing over it was on purpose and her mother figured so. Though she was stunned the Queen gave the ring after a jolting greeting leading up. The older woman is content with believing the future king is just really good with words. 

_ “I take it your billionaire fiancé will be paying for my flight,” she’s joking, a little.  _

“Mother!” Rue laughs in shock, though her mother’s question is funnier than anything else. 

_ “It’s a bit of a given, innit?” She winks. “So, when are you starting your planning? After the little bean is born?”  _

Rue thinks:  _ FUCK.  _

_ “What’s that face?” She asks, frightened. “What’s happened.”  _

“No no, the baby is fine. We’re going to look into a private doctor here.” Her mother is relieved. But she’s still weary. Rue feels like a child. She sighs heavily and knows she can’t lie. “We’re rushing the process. So I’m sure things will go into overdrive fairly quickly.” 

_ “Wh—oh.” Grete understands. “There’s some politics at play. How much of it?”  _

“Was a big push from the Crown,” she plays with the hem of her t-shirt. “I’m confident we would have ended up here anyway. But they want to keep the pregnancy under wraps and we have a story we have to sell until the coast is clear to make the announcement.” 

“ _ For appearances,” Grete concludes, with a heavy sigh. “And Thor, what’s he think?”  _

Rue still manages a smile with her conflicted emotions. She’s a bit of a mess. She’s really excited, but realizes Thor would rather wait. “It’s been up to me really, though his parents think they’re getting what they want because Thor would never defy them...He’s said he’ll give it up.” 

_ “And why hasn’t he?”  _

Her mother’s tone is gentle. But she feels a little defensive, “I don’t want him to. Say he does that then he resents me? I couldn’t even bear the thought of that. And I’d rather not be the reason someone like...Loki becomes king of a country.” She adds the last bit with a small chuckle. Her mother doesn’t buy it. 

_ “Sweetie,” Grete sighs. “Sweetheart, be mindful. I know you’re very close with him now, and I’m sure he loves you and wouldn’t intentionally hurt you. His family… if they’re anything like the lot we have...I just worry. They’ve already shown they care more about the crown than they do you.”  _

“That’s not fair,” Brunhilde frowns. “I haven’t been here very long.” 

“ _ But how much more than nothing, have any of them done to get to know you? Or make your arrival any better?” She looks sympathetic. “I just want you to be sure you’re making the right choice.”  _

“I’m happy,” she says. “Being together is what I wanted, Mum. This comes with it. I’m sure it will be better. But I’m...I’ll pick myself up and dust myself off, if it doesn’t work out the way I want.” She looks and sees her mom accept her answer. She adds: “Plus, it smells better here.”

_ Grete throws her head back, laughing before shaking her head. She turns back to the camera. “Cheeky.”  _

Brunhilde shrugs innocently. She bites her lip, knowing she has to bring up the prospect of her father being at her wedding, “Mummy…” 

_ “Oh stars...what now,” she’s not that exasperated. But she knows her daughter only calls her mummy when she wants something.  _

“Would it be absolutely terrible for me to find out where Dad is and invite him? I’d like him to meet Thor.” She’s not really sure why. She still needs to fix the brokenness he’s left. But it’s there. 

_ “Are you asking if I could be nice enough to him so not to muck it up with an angry brouhaha…”  _

“Mum, no one says brouhaha anymore. But yes,” she makes a bit of a wincing face. 

_ “I understand why you’d need to. I’m fine with it. You’re still my sweet little girl, making sure I’m okay.” She smiles with remembrance of her daughter with pigtails and frizzy baby hairs, overalls and trainers. “You know an invitation won’t mean he appears…”  _

“I know.” 

_ She sighs heavily then, “I still would like to come visit. And of course get you ready.”  _

“I’ll see about getting you a flight. Everything kicks off soon I assume. So I will check in about it tomorrow.” There’s a knock before the doors push over, and Thor waltzes in before someone else follows in. A young woman, curvy with dark hair, walking in behind him. 

“Baby, we have a gue—are you on a call?” 

“It’s my mom,” she replies, turning the laptop. “I have to go Mum. I love you, bunches.” 

_ “I love you, Sweets!” She calls back, “Hello, Thor. Congratulations!”  _

“Thank you,” Thor steps across the expanse of the bedroom and the woman he entered stands back with a pleasant look on her face. “We’ve got to chat some more, sorry I missed you this time.” 

Rue smiles and turns the laptop after her mother offers a simple smile. She looks to her fiancé with a look that says she’ll tell him more later. “Alright mother, cheers.” She ends end call with a smile and shuts her laptop as she stands. Thor loops an arm over her shoulder and presses a kiss to her forehead. He’s in a suit he looks quite good in. He’d had met for a late lunch—that he forgot he’d agreed to—to talk about maybe making an appearance at the prep school he’d been to for a speech and a field day with the kids. He hasn’t agreed yet, knowing time was going to be busy. He’d try and force time into his schedule. “You look quite fresh,” Rue adds and he smiles. 

“Thanks.” He mutters. Turning her attention to the woman standing there waiting, he introduces her. “This is miss Darcy Lewis. She’s down from the chamberlain's office.” She detects some awkwardness, which is odd. 

“Hey,” she greets, offering her hand. Brunhilde is glad there’s no bowing. 

“An American,” Rue comments lightly, “I thought  _ I _ was a long way from home.” 

“Nope, got you beat,” she smiles warmly. 

“You two sit, I’d like to change out of this suit,” Thor offers, directing their attention to his sitting area. 

They do. And Darcy starts. “So, essentially, I'm here to direct you to any and all help you need. Directions, questions, concerns...all of that. And I’m here with this list Her Majesty said you requested. Congratulations on the engagement and the baby.” 

“Oh, thanks,” she says wearily. “I didn’t think we were telling anyone that part.” 

“I won’t tell anyone.” Darcy rushes. “I could be executed for that.” 

Brunhilde’s eyes widen and she's at a loss for words a moment. 

“She’s kidding!” Thor calls out as he stands near the cracked closet door. 

She laughs from where she sits on the couch, and Darcy cracks a smile as she melts back into the couch. “I...you got me.” 

“Sorry,” Darcy makes a face, showing her bottom teeth and curling her shoulders upwards slightly. 

“No, it was good.” 

“But no, seriously,” Darcy continues, “I’m sworn to secrecy. I’d never work again and with news like this, I could be sued.” 

“Sound,” Brunhilde says, sarcastically. The situation would be a mess, not good at all. “So...you’re like...one stop shop secretary?” 

“Exactly.” 

There’s a moment of understanding and Rue realizes her help with adjusting has been relegated to about 3 people.  _ Cool.  _

“And the wedding planning?” 

“My office handles those events, public events, and correspondence with the general public. So tomorrow we’ll start looking at what you want.” She explains, talking with her hands and ignoring Thor comes back to sit next to his bride. “You will be getting fitted for a dress in the next week or so.”

“Is that even possible?” 

“Oh, there’s teams upon teams available to make it happen.” It boggles her mind momentarily. So she puts it aside when Darcy continues. “Do you have an idea of what you want to wear for the event coming up on Thursday?” 

“I planned to go shopping,” Brunhilde shrugs. “I realized pretty quick I don’t have anything appropriate for the parties around here.” Thor gently elbows her side and she laughs through her nose as she sways. 

Darcy looks momentarily confused, “You don’t have to do that. There’s clothes on clothes in this place.” 

“Sure, but I’d also like to explore a bit.” 

“I’ll let Lucian and Sif know about it then.” 

“I can’t go alone? No ones going to notice.” 

Darcy looks at Thor, “you didn’t tell—“ she stops and looks at the woman beside him instead. “Trust me, they’ll notice. You were the number one trend in this country—and Norway, Denmark, and Sweden—on social media that weekend. They’ll notice.” 

“Shit.” Brunhilde sighs. “It’s all kickin off now.” 

“Indeed.” She gets up to leave. “Thor will show you how to work the landline to reach my office, but it’s pretty self explanatory.” 

They say their goodbyes and Brunhilde looks at Thor. “Am I being... _ handled? _ ” 

Thor winces. “I had a bit of an argument over it. I knew you’d notice. I did what I could to get you...more? Darcy was the best option. She’s...a friend.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Thor nods, and they huddle together comfortably. “She used to work for someone I know, a doctor. It wasn’t for her, and she got more benefits working here with us. It caused a bit of a mess…” 

“I dated her boss for a year.” Thor says, “Jane.” 

“ _ You _ dated a doctor?!  _ Bloody hell!”  _ She cackles. 

“What!?” Thor laughs, “Can’t see it?” 

“Not even a little bit!” 

“Well, that’s not wrong.” 

“What happened? Actually?” She wonders, not meaning to pry and not bothered when he takes the envelope from her hand. 

“Just didn’t work? We weren’t right for each other.” He says, pulling the list out. “Let’s look at these huh.” 

“Yes.” 

There’s professional headshots alone with a brief rundown of the doctors and their credentials. They get through about four before Thor stiffens and jolts with anger. 

“Oh fuck  _ awff!”  _

Right there, big black and white dramatic picture like the rest, Dr. Jane Foster. 

  
  



	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a few weeks longer than I’d planned between updates; I apologize. But thank you for sticking around. 
> 
> This chapter was difficult for me to put together—not really sure why. And I’m not as happy as I could be with it. But it’s coherent and does what I need it to.

“Why would she—“ 

Thor heaves out a heavy sigh. “On the assumption that you wouldn’t know her but I’d be reminded of her existence at every turn.” He lets the rest be up to her imagination and she determines what that means. 

“That’s a bit...mean…” Brunhilde’s face scrunches with annoyance as she thinks. 

“I’ll have this out with them.” He kisses her forehead. 

“Dont,” she inhales a resetting breath and places the rest of the options aside. “I think I’d like to meet her.” 

Thor is confused. “Why?” 

“I have all of her qualifications here,” she says, spreading the photos out. “Navy OB/Gyn. Might as well be indentured to the crown. And I think it would show them they can play their games but…” she shrugs. “They’re not going to beat me with things like this. I get that I’ve sort of mucked up the plan a bit; it’s unfair to treat me like I did it alone.” 

Thor feels regret, not for what’s between them but for his family’s unmitigated effort to offend her since she’d arrived. 

“Plus, I’m a bit petty.” She smirks up at him—knowing he won’t take it as a side swipe at his previous relationship, but his parents. “Is she nice?” 

“Yes?” Thor chuckles, “ I consider her a friend, I think—I mean, we were friendly when we called it quits.” 

Truthfully, they both know this move from his mother

could be an indication of just how not amicable their feelings. Rue chortles, “I’d like to meet her and see if she’ll take us on.” 

He quirks a brow, “Are you sure?” 

“If there’s any funny business, I won’t hesitate to do something about it,” she smiles almost deviously. Two can play at whatever game his parents are up to. Is this an attempt at a power play? If so, she will not be pushed out. She’s gotten this far, said her piece in interactions where she absolutely could not avoid it—this is not a fight she wanted, but it’s one she won’t quit. 

He kisses her then, suddenly. It makes her squeal from the unexpected. But she doesn’t let him pull away and soon they are stuck to one another. They haven’t had time to themselves, uninterrupted, yet. And they have sorely missed each other. Thor had missed the fire she possesses, there hasn’t been much of it, as she’s been shelled; it’s his doing if he’s straight with himself. Much of her composure comes from wanting to spare him the shame. 

The heat in the room rises tenfold; the young couple huddled and giggling on the couch. His hands settle on her body comfortably; big, and warm—his presence of late has been nothing short of a comfort. The intensity between them and the familiarity has risen. Rue doesn’t know if it’s just the hormones or what, but she’s never been more attracted to him. There’s something about his sensitivity and awareness of her emotions and uncertainty that makes him so damn sexy. She giggles to herself as he pushes the hem of her blouse up higher, feeling her bare hip. Thor pulls her up to straddle his lap. 

There’s no time for moving from the couch. Spreading her hands, touching from his hip up to gently tug at his hair, she settles comfortably above him. It’s like muscle memory. The time they spent together when he wasn’t representing a country, she’d dedicated a lot of time to exploring his body. 

Their mouths are practically fused. She enjoys his teasing, light and playful kisses. Thor rubs her hip with his thumb. Rue sits heavily down on him, his pelvis aligned with hers. His neck is a flushed, a pink splotch taking over the expense across his Adam’s apple; his ears are nearly carnation pink. Their kisses have taken on a soft, wet sound, far more erotic in feeling at the moment(it’s an awkward thing for her to think about later. It would make her skirm to explain out loud). With one hand, she rubs his cheekbone, looking down at him. He seems to blush all over his large body, and it makes her smile. 

“You’re quite beautiful, you know?” She mutters to him, focused on his crystal blue eyes and thick, long eye lashes. 

“Stop it,” Thor chuckles lightly. She bites her full bottom lip and he reaches up to release it from her perfectly white teeth. “You’re the beautiful one.” 

She can’t help but to roll her eyes and try to tamp down her grin. She’s battled with the thought of being exotic...her whole life really. 

He looks at her with nothing but sinful intent in these moments, like he wants to do things to her she can never say to someone else for fear of them thinking her a whore. It makes her laugh. She wonders who’s taught him such things. But he looks at her with something more now. It wraps her in warmth and joy. She’s happy to have someone who understands she’s not quite sure how to love fully and completely or even if she can. Her past has precluded her from a lot. But her carefree nature has been a coping mechanism, a way she’s handled growing up in a broken home. Don’t let anyone in, keep everyone at bay—connection is not needed or wanted—do not tie yourself to anyone and the heartstrings are safe. 

Her heart clings to the man before her, who sees her. And he wants her to see him. She’s never felt like he hid himself. 

Thor rubs a hand up to her waist up slowly to cup the side of her left breast. He thumbs her nipple through the thin layer of material that comprises her bra. The mound pills and she feels the pleasure shoot down her chest directly to her groin. She’s heated by his touch and blazing stare. 

Rue’s hands rise naturally as he commands she take off her shirt. There’s a gruffness to his voice, matching the growing firmness of his manhood. 

But then, they are interrupted. 

“Go away!” Thor answers the knock of the aids. 

“The King would like to speak with you,” comes the voice. “And your guest is needed in regards to tailoring.” 

“Fuck,” Thor sighs, looking down at his lap, a huff of unresolved arousal. 

Rue has since thrown her shirt back on. “We will continue this later.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Her head is spinning when she plops into one of many sitting rooms in the palace. Darcy and the seamstresses are milling about, offering their ideas thrown together in a matter of hours. It’s probably later than they normally work. A designer being out of the question considering the time limit, they all look at her as though they aren’t enough. But they will try. 

She’s never had this kind of attention. 

_What kind of flowers? What color scheme? What kind of dress?_

She wants to scream, actually, because what is this? Her head is full of reasons to run away—to never look back at this absolute craziness. This is too soon, too early. But there’s really no looking back, is there…

Rue knows, so far, she wouldn’t change a thing. 

Looking at the sparkly ring, she finds herself answering. 

“White lilies, roses, and daisies. White and neutrals—dusty pink, mauve. And I like that one,” she points at a sketch, the skirt is just big enough, with what looks like a lace corset, that sucks in just enough to accentuate her still small waist. The dip in the front leaves her collar on display. They don’t have long to get it done. Someone will be up late nights. 

In her white, silky robe, she stands on a platform in the middle of the large sitting room set up to look like a typical fitting room. Darcy is going on about something, while her measurements are taken. She’s all but put in the proper positions. “These will serve for multiple outfits.” 

She wonders how long that will take and how much work it will be. And then, they are forgetting she’s going to keep growing. “No, they won’t” she laughs. She’ll be moving through sizes, she knows. “I am going shopping, don’t kill yourselves to make clothes for me.” 

Darcy stands there, unable to argue. She can see Brunhilde is not one to be swayed. She’s going to go shopping and she’s going to get what she wants. It doesn’t take a genius to see this confidence Thor has levied with constant approval and smite feelings of affection. She will be his North Star. 

Darcy could laugh at the dramatism if not for the way Brunhilde lights this room they occupy. There’s something harbored that could very well be destructive if she weren’t also so charming. It is her spirit. 

The now, future Queen could tear this place to the ground. 

“Darcy?” She calls again, as the woman standing behind her seems to be deaf suddenly. The seamstresses milling about will poke her with needles if she turns to look. 

“Sorry,” Darcy shakes off her bout of distracted thought. “What did you say? I spaced. I apologize.” 

The newly minted fiancée smiles nervously in the mirror. “Do I have to run these decisions by anyone?” 

“I will double check just to make sure,” Darcy says, as she can just see the upping of the woman’s anxiety at the thought of making another mistake. “But rest assured, it would be me they chewed out if any mistake is made...here on out.” They look at each other in the reflection, before Brunhilde cracks a smile. 

“Please don’t put that into the universe.” 

Darcy chuckles to herself. “Is there anyone you’d like to have on the invite list?” 

That reminded her. 

“My mother,” she shrugs, “I have a grand total of 3 friends, including her, and I’d very much like them to be here...preferably before the weeks end.” 

“That can be arranged. I’ll just need the names,” Darcy looks up at her pen already primed for writing. 

“Nakia Shauku, Okoye Ojo. And my mother Grete, Grete Arden,” she named them. 

“Father?” 

“It was James Thomas—pronounced Taw-ma—last I spoke to him,” She rolled her eyes, much quicker than she thought about it. When it comes to him, her emotions seem to take over. And that much she very much regrets, “I’d like to call him first, before any invites are extended.” 

“...Gotcha.”


End file.
